Fast forward quite a few years and a version of that dream came true. Sosta was just that: the blackest black fur and the most vibrant green eyes. (She also had a little white patch just below her collar bone and a tiny/thin white stripe across her belly that few people ever saw.)

This kitty reminded me of Sosta. He’s doesn’t have the white “angel kisses”, but he’s special in his own way.

At our house, Purrrrrl could see Turtleor any time she wanted; his tank was on a fairly short stand. At first, she liked watching him swim, but when the new wore off, she never gave it a second glance.

Over the weekend, Purrrrrl got to meet Turtleor in a different way.

In an effort to clean Turtleor’s aquarium, we dumped all the rocks and all the water, washed the rocks (broke our garbage disposal), and started as close as we could get to anew.

Meanwhile, Turtleor was in a bucket and scratching up a storm to get to where he could see or just be.

Emil brought Purrrrrl over to him. She didn’t seem to want to know more about the scratching creature, so I held him up to her. She sniffed. He hissed at her and retreated into his shell. Fine. He’s little and she’s huge and scary.

But SHE is the one who shook in terror, clawed her way from Emil’s lap, and bolted out of the kitchen. What a scaredy cat.

Later, however, she returned: she sneaked up to the bucket and peered over into it. No sparks of interest, but also no flying of fur and scales.

Next time, Turtleor gets to walk around!

When Sosta first adopted me, we did a bit of traveling to see friends. We went to Tampa and Miami. Luckily for me, she was in the car often enough to be comfortable with our short trips. It was nice to have a car-friendly cat. While she wasn’t as happy as a dog with its head out the window, she did tolerate the trips quite well.

In early 1997, I got a job offer from Texas A&M (from what turned out to be the worst boss I’ve ever had [1]). I had about a week to pack up my apartment in Orlando and move half way across the country. I rented a U-haul and the little car dolly thing for the back. Daddy made plans to fly to Orlando and make the drive with me. In the mean time, he and Mom had been to College Station and picked out an apartment for me.

I picked Daddy up from the airport on a Friday night. I think I spent the entire ride telling him about Sosta. We were a dog family, and Daddy had never liked cats. I wanted so badly for him to not hate her.

At the apartment, I was excited by how much packing I had done; Daddy was disappointed at how much there was left to do. But that was secondary to Daddy meeting Sosta.

Since my parents never understood why I had a futon instead of a bed[2], and since on their only other visit to Orlando, they bought me a bed, I made the bed for Daddy and made the futon for me. I didn’t think Sosta would have trouble with it since she was used to sleeping on either/both. She and I had a nightly routine. We watched tv and snuggled on the futon…and then went to sleep in the bed.

Well, she took straight to Daddy. He’d traveled for hours to get to Orlando. I’d been packing for days. We were exhausted. From the minute we got to the apartment, we were getting ready to go to sleep. Even without our tv routine, she hopped up on the bed and waited for him to join her. She spent the first night they met curled up on his feet. For her, it was love at first sight. For him, it was meeting the coolest cat any of us had ever known.

From that day, he was her man. She met other men in her life but no one else was worthy of so much affection from her…until she met Emil, of course.

The next day, Daddy and I did got up super early and some lightening-fast packing and loading. Once it was all done, we gave Sosta her drugs and made a spot for her in the moving truck. She was a very funny “drunk” kitty. We got her settled in and pulled away from the complex just before noon.

While taking a break somewhere in the middle of our trip, I lost Sosta. I looked all through the cab of the truck and couldn’t find her anywhere. I was just “this side” of panicked when Daddy found her crouched behind my seat. She just about gave me a heart attack.

In College Station, I felt it important that she have a little more space to move around and wouldn’t let Mom put her in the bathroom (she’d been in such a tiny space for 2 whole days). Well, in the course of moving furniture and boxes into the apartment, she sneaked out. We looked everywhere for her. We put food out on the patio, went to dinner and came back, and looked again unsuccessfully. I cried myself to sleep that night and dreamed of her return. Waking up to the reality that she was still gone was harsh. After breakfast, I was standing at the patio door looking out and feeling very alone in my new town when I saw her wander up. I cried all over again, but this time tears of joy. Her little night out in her new town almost broke my heart. She did what always did whenever I was upset and licked the tears off my face.

For the next several months, Sosta and I would make a trip to Paris every 4-5 weeks. She’d ride in the car like she had in Florida and even learned to tell time. She always knew when we were getting close to home. She’d start stirring and getting antsy about 20 minutes from home.

Over the years, and especially as Mom/Daddy’s dog Randi Cae gold older, Sosta didn’t travel to Paris quite as often. Her last big car trip was the move to Austin.

In her last few months, she knew that when the carrier came out, she was going to the vet. She was always a very good patient and completely trusted everyone who ever examined her.

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[1] David “Poppy” Capehart truly ruined so much for so many. He’s one of the most evil and cruel people I’ve ever known. Sosta is a big reason I survived the year of working for/with him and didn’t abandon Aggieland altogether.

[2] Later, when I was still using the futon for a couch, they bought me a sleeper sofa. I kept both it and the futon in my living room for a very long time. I finally got rid of it in 1998 after using it for 5+ years. This year, Emil and I bought a futon when we moved into our apartment in Austin. I had forgotten how much I like them. They make great couches since they aren’t too squishy. It’s great for my late-night tv watching.

I took Sosta to the vet with the hope (but not expectation) that they would have a way to make her more comfortable while she lived her last few days with us. From a visual and physical inspection—and coupled with her medical history—the vet found her to be in liver failure as well as probable kidney failure. Coupled with the terminal cancer, there were no viable treatment or even management options. Every option available was “kitty hospice” feeding tubes, hydration by injection, and other horrible treatments. I called Emil and we agreed that keeping her with us for even another day or two would just be more discomfort for her. Truthfully, it would have meant more agony for us, too. We’d already watched her decline severely over the last three days.

There was no spark or twinkle left in her eyes. She still recognized, marked, loved, and appreciated us. She could barely muster a purr. Watching her force her breathing a little gave us a sign of what was to come.

Emil left work a little early and met me at the clinic. Together, we made the difficult and painful decision to say goodbye. We had a very long and touching time with her before she cross over. I know that her last moments and memories were with and of us.

We thanked her for being the most amazing cat ever and for all she’d done for me and for us. We asked her to tell her sister, Mitad, and her Grandpapa, Larry, that we love them, too. They were the best of friends to us and to one another.

When we came home with an empty carrier, Purrrrrl immediately sniffed all around looking for her sister. Though I had tried to facilitate a goodbye moment between them just in case, Purrrrrl was still expecting Sosta to come home. I had forgotten that part of Mitad’s death ~18 months ago. Sosta cried literal tears down her cheeks when Mitad didn’t come back home with us. I guess they each knew the other was not well, but were not hit with the realization until home had one less nose to count.[2]

Life isn’t fucking fair. Again, I say, if any creature deserves to live one more moment on this planet, it is her—-far above and beyond anyone I’ve ever met. Her love was pure and her heart was genuine. She never ever caused any harm to anyone else. She deserved more than 14+ years of life. I deserve more than 13+years with her in my life. Only the good die young.

Sosta, we will always love and honor you. You were the most amazing cat I’ve ever known and the most gentle and caring creature on Earth.

[1] The Rainbow Bridge symbolizes a pet crossing over into your/their version of Heaven. Personally, Heaven would not be complete for me without Sosta (and Mitad, Valvet, Gypsy, Ladd, and Randi Cae). I like non-human members of my family more than I like most people. It wouldn’t be Heaven for me unless they were all there.

[2] Gypsy was the best about this and would have been a fabulous pack leader. She wanted everyone to be at home when it was time for bed. She’d walk from my dad to my mom to me. If we were all there, she’d snuggle down ready to sleep. If any one of us was out late (Daddy was a basketball coach, Mom went to educational conferences, I had sleepovers), she would walk from one of us to the other and then wander the house looking for the third human-member of the family. Mom gave it the nickname, “counting noses”. She really did want all of us at home, together.

When she made it through mid-October, we were so happy. That was longer than the vets anticipated. Truthfully, after she recovered from the surgery, she was far better than she had been before it. Having her for Hallowe’en and Thanksgiving was great. …but we neither one think she’ll make it to Christmas.

We’re going to call the vet tomorrow to see if we can manage any discomfort she’s having…but unless they can do something to improve her appetite, we suspect her time left with us will be pretty short.

She seems to feel just fine. Her only behavior change is that she is now my own personal play-by-play when I’m at home. I can’t leave any room of our 2/2 apartment without her following me. Wednesday, I took ~10 steps to move something from one room to another and when I turned around, she was there. I try to tell her to stay put and that I’ll be right back….but she follows me, anyway.

The lump on her belly seems to be stunted in growth in some way (knock on wood). It seems quite a bit smaller than it was when she came home from having the stitches removed.

We are spoiling her like crazy and she’s taking full advantage. She’ll beg for wet food and climb all over us until she can find the blue “woobie” afghan that I crocheted a couple of years ago. (It’s usually resting across the back of the couch.)

Anyway, she’s doing quite well given her prognosis. I’m glad to have the extra time with her. I hope the last few weeks of my life are as decadent.

There was another benefit. She has never responded to “here kitty kitty…” but has always been responsive to a “pss pss pss” sound.

To get her used to her name, I’d whisper it over and over while she was drifting off to sleep. “Sooooo-sssssta” went the lullaby.

It always amazed her Grand-pa-pa (her nick name for my dad) that she liked the “pss pss pss” sound and didn’t care for “here kitty kitty…” Of course, at that time in life, he’d never had a cat. He used to hate them, even. He would have much to learn from the Little One named Sosta.

The Little One has a short learning curve and made her appearance at my apartment every evening after the other critters vanished. She made sure to stick around long enough for me to notice her. Her reward was a nightly meal.

After a few days of this pattern I went out of town for the weekend. I was so excited to come home and hoped that my absence didn’t cause her to wander too far away from being able to find me again. I put food out immediately and waited and hoped for the Little One’s return.

I wasn’t even unpacked from the short trip when she wandered up the door! She was a little hungrier than usual and seemed quite happy that I had come back.

Over the course of the next few nights, she’d stop by to eat and then I’d invite her inside. At first, she’d only stay a minute, but each visit grew longer. By the end of the week, she was napping in my lap after her supper and winning my heart.

By the weekend, she didn’t want to back outside when it was time for bed. So, she stayed the night. She had me wrapped around her little paw.

Sosta’s adoption of me messed with that fantasy pet plan big time. At the time, however, I didn’t even notice.