Choo Choo was just a plain, gray tabby cat, nothing special as far as pedigree, but she was a sweet girl and gave us a lot of joy. She wasn’t the pushy sort, the kind of cat who is always under your feet in the kitchen. Choo Choo was a lady.

When she was hungry, she would silently amble over to the spot where I always put her dish and sit, waiting patiently for me to notice her. Occasionally she would meow softly, and then bat her eyes at me for a little added emphasis.

She had a tiny voice that was difficult to hear, and when she got locked in a closet, as cats sometimes do, she might have to wait for hours before we would miss her and go looking for her. In those instances, when we finally did hunt her down, she could be found curled up on some clothes or cuddled up in a box. No big deal to her!

Choo Choo was pretty content to stay inside, but she also like to be outside and once out of the door, would make a beeline for the planter that runs across the front of the house. This was her route to the window sill where she would settle down, peering though the window, watching the activity inside. I thought that an odd pastime, but no more than her begging to go on the front porch where she would sit and stare at us through the screen. I guess she didn’t want to miss any of our cute, human antics while she grabbed a breath of fresh air.

One of her favorite things to do was to lay in one of the patio chairs and watch as an assortment of birds came to steal snacks out of the bowl I always kept on the patio table, filled with dry catfood. She never went after them, but they did amuse her, and she could lay for hours, watching and chattering at the blue jays as they perched on the edge of her dish, helping themselves to her food. Choo Choo could often be found sitting beside me or rubbing my leg for attention while I watered the grass. It’s one of those cat things, keeping quiet company with the big folks.

Choo Choo became ill quite suddenly not too long ago. Maybe it wasn’t really so suddenly, maybe we just didn’t notice the signs. When she collapsed in the yard, right in front of me as I reached out to pet her, I became petrified with shock. When I shook her and she came out of the seizure, I tired to convince myself it was the heat. After all, we were having a very hot spring and Choo was 17 years old. It HAD to be the heat! I wouldn’t let myself think anything else. But, it wasn’t.

It took several hours at the emergency hospital, and several tests. Finally we were told that her heart was enlarged and beating irregularly, probably from a hyper thyroid condition. We took her home with the medication they gave us, and waited for Monday when she could see her regular vet. The seizures continued through the weekend and my nerves were downright frazzled by Monday.

Monday came and Choo Choo went to see her doctor. He sent us to a specialist who told us the same things the first two vets had said. More tests, more medication, and poor Choo Choo was still not any better.

After a week of watching her go through seizures at five to ten minute intervals, and thinking she was dead every time she collapsed, Andy and I had to make that terrible decision that faces pet owners sooner or later.

I sit on the front steps and water the grass as usual, but it’s not much fun any more. I miss that sweet, furry girl by my side.