In Memoriam, Bryn Kitty "BK", 1993?-2003

Bryn Kitty joined my household in October 1994. I'd just moved out on my own for the second time and could get a pet. I remember the local news running a story about how the Humane Society wouldn't be adopting out black cats this time of year being so close to Halloween with the potential threat to felines by some idiots in the Samhain season. I woke up the next morning with the word "princess" ringing in my head and went to work. All day I was antsy so I took off early and headed to the Humane Society. I avoided the kitten room and knew I wanted an adult female, preferably spayed already. It was hard to look in all those needy faces but I narrowed my choice to a couple of different black cats and finally looked closely at the name tag on one cage: Princess.

We got home and settled in but I wasn't about to have my cat outrank me (ha!) so I hunted around for a new name and chose "Bryn" meaning hill in Welsh. She was a kinda tubby kitty (like mother like daughter) and the sound of it fit. The nickname BK came about on its own later.

BK always thought I needed chaperoning; she was my kitchen, bathroom, living room, and bedroom security guard. She used to march out into the living room when I'd stay up too late and tell me it was time for bed. She was a great hunter and mighty frustrated by the glass sliding doors at one apartment cuz the bluejays tortured her with their "can't touch this" dance out on the porch railing when they realized she couldn't get out. She loved to make the wooden coffeetable echo by bonking her head on it when going under or coming out. When I went eventing I missed her greatly and got bitched out for staying away when I got home.

BK loved to sleep near my head on the bed (with kitty butt in my face of course) or near me on the chair or floor. One of her favorite games was "how much stuff can I knock off the ottoman/stool/coffeetable with my tail?" She was tolerant of my art stuff and only once did I find a tell-tale hairball on the table near my cardweaving. She'd watch you do embroidery and wouldn't it be nice if you stopped and played kitty string, since you have all that yarn out anyway... She didn't beg for human food but liked to share a bit of chicken or ice cream or whatever you were having. Just a little off your finger please. She wanted to be included, that's all. She loved her catnip scratcher boxes, the catnip pillow, a long shoelace for kitty string, but the best toy was a wadded up receipt or sticky. The new condo was the best place for kitty soccer. And watching her ears going back and forth in time to the washing machine was just priceless.

Bryn was my Squeaker Girl, my Velcro Cat. She had the loudest purr. Those yellow eyes bored through me with compassion and understanding for my obvious human fraility, like not changing the litter box often enough. She was an only cat. She made that very clear the one time I tried to bring a new kitty home. She'd give you a headbutt when she wanted attention, or worse, a cold nose on exposed flesh when you were sleeping. She loved breaking into cupboards. It was no fun when they were open, she had to do it herself.

The end was quick, too quick. I noticed she'd lost weight, and after a week of tests and a week of waiting for results, during which time she wasted away further, the diagnosis was kidney disease. I had tried to prepare myself, but it wasn't enough time. I guess it's never enough time. I was calm until the vet brought in the syringe. I was horrified. I want to run, I wanted to hide, I wanted to throw myself at him and the tech and push the needle away. But I watched and cried and petted her head and she was gone.

How can this have only been yesterday? The house is too quiet without her. I keep expecting her to come padding into the office and come sit with me. But I know that she's not in pain and my own selfish wailing will fade and we'll move on to do the things intended for us. Goodbye sweet girl, I miss you so much.

Lady Bast, keep my girl safe in your care.

Originally written 03/11/03, the day after.