Melissa crawled under the cabin Friday evening, and, sometime during the night, breathed her last. We found her there Saturday morning. Through the last few days, her breathing had become labored; her appetite had vanished; a couple of days before she died, she stopped purring when we stroked her. Life, for her, had clearly become desperately uncomfortable, and, had she made it through to Monday, we would have sought a vet to have her discomfort put to an end. I’m glad that Melissa made her choice before we had to make that one.
We put her body in an old pillow case that we no longer used, one that she had slept on many times. We weighted it with rocks, sailed with our friends (and hers) the Hudsons, out to the deep water between the Head of the Cape and Pond Island, and released her, to be reclaimed by the waters that she spent so many hours, over the years, watching, with who knows what emotion or comprehension.
Melissa was a good cat; gentle with kids, responsive, easy on the furniture. She was a patient traveler and loved her annual visits to Maine. Up until a few years ago, she’d be out at night up here, hunting in the woods and eating what she caught. She was companionable; not a lap sitter, but one who sat beside you and purred when you stroked her. Whenever possible, she was where we were, sleeping on my bed or my office desk or the porch glider or her basket on the kitchen work table. She seems to have enjoyed our company, and we enjoyed hers.
We will miss her. Here is a movie we made of her unceremonious burial in beautiful Penobscot Bay.
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