- It's really really late (after 1am when I stared this) and I really should be in bed, but I need to get these thoughts out of my head.
- Tomorrow we have our first new home meeting and get to meet our new neighbors.
- Work is a bit stressful right now and I just wish it would go away, but it won't, at least not any time soon.
When I was 16, we had just moved to a new house across town. It was a place where we could finally have a pet that wasn't in a cage. And I wanted a black cat! At this point in my life, I was very much interested in Wicca and Pagan ways. And all witches are supposed to have a (black) cat as a familiar. *cheeky grin* We went to the local shelter and looked at kittens. We almost left without a kitten because I didn't see any black ones. But just as we were on our way out, I saw this itty bitty black thing in with some others. I wanted her immediately. Even if she did have dragon breath and worse yet, the breath of death! Yes, her breath was horrible! She would lick herself and her saliva would glue her fur in place. (Girls who used tons of hair spray back then would have been envious of this.) Her death-breath stayed with her for sometime, but thankfully she out grew it and was able to cleanly lick her fur.
As for her name, that wasn't easy to come by. What do you name a black cat? I asked her if she wanted to be called Blackie? I got a blank stare. Midnight? Another blank stare. Shadow? More staring. All of a sudden, it came to me: Black Sabbath? She gave me a wink and a chirrup and that's what she has been called ever since. Although, we've always called her Sabby for short. She wouldn't have just any ol' name, not this girl.
She had personality oozing from her. She would sleep under the covers with my sister, had a love-hate (although more love) with my brother and would hang out with me in my room. She knew whose window ledge to hop up on (mom's) to meow at to be let in. Or if it was late at night and my mom was still awake, she'd scratch on the window by the front door. She scratched that place so often and for so long, there were scratch marks in the glass. I talked to Sabby, she was my sanity at times. She even helped me paint my bedroom door. Ok, she didn't really help, but more got in the way, so I painted her toe nails red and purple. (I guess it wasn't the possibly toxins from acrylic paints that killed her, eh?) One time, I was petting her from head to tail. I would run my hand down her head, continue to along back and to the tip of her tail where my hand would stop at the ending position so Sabby had to turn around to repeat the petting process. After a couple of times of this she got fed up and bit me on the nose!
I'll miss her pissy old lady whine. But after living for almost 19 years, she definitely earned her right to talk as she please and act how ever she wanted.
I'll miss you Sabby!
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| My last picture of Sabby - Sept. 2010 |
