One of those typical, hot, hazy, mid-July afternoons in the South. We sat on the veranda that extended along the front and side of the two-story white home.
We sat at right angles to each other and our wicker rockers faced out over the lush green lawn. A warm breeze rustled the willow trees before wafting toward the house and cooling our skin.
Colorful gardens splashed the landscape as if they were dabbed on with an artist’s brush.
She paused to take a soothing drink and watched as a passing tractor kicked up dust on the road below.
She was a charming lady. Her eyes were bright and had a child-like twinkle that belied her 87 years.
As she spoke she gently stroked "Henrietta", her beloved feline companion who was nestled comfortably in her lap.
I was amazed and enthralled as I listened to Emma describe her colorful past and the fascinating history that wove in and around her life and that old estate.
It was some years after that when my own cat "Sunshine" was beginning to suffer from some strange medical condition. No one could figure it out. Not even the vets who just kept prescribing different medications (and running up a hefty bill!)
The conversation hadn’t been about cats at all. Everything else, in fact. But her cats … her cats were included in just about all of her stories throughout her entire life.
Looking back, it was so obvious. My goodness! "Henrietta" was almost 29 years old! "Old General" had lived to almost 40! The other 4 or 5 cats she owned at one time or another apparently all lived to be over 30 years old… Read more…