miss priss

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miss priss

Post by cymbalta on Thu Nov 25, 2010 7:10 pm

What can I say? Her name fit her well. She was a Miss Priss in
every sense of the word.
She came into my life on an early warm Friday, October afternoon.
I was raking leaves at my mom's in Michigan, waiting for her to return
from her volunteer work at the nursing home. I just arrived from a
ten-day Fall color tour along the upper Mississippi and upper shores of
Lake Michigan.
Hearing a faint, soft mew I began calling "kitty, kitty" and this
striking black calico came running up to my feet. She was just a tiny bit
of fluff and I could feel every rib in her body as I bent to pick her up.
She rolled in my arms as if to say, "Wow, someone really wants me!"
Of course, on cue my mom chose that very minute to pull up in the
driveway and seeing what I had in my arms promptly stated, "That flea
bitten thing is not coming in the house!" Right!
Somehow, Miss Priss worked her charm on mom and she agreed to
keep her. Since mom lived by herself, I thought this kitten would
make a wonderful companion for her. We later found out our "kitten"
was around 4-5 years old and had had her kittens by cesarean. Yes,
she was that petite.
She lived with mom through the winter. Mom, being from the old
school, thought it was okay for cats to roam outside. So when Spring
came, mom decided Miss Priss was too much trouble (meaning she didn't
want to worry about Priss wandering around outside) and was going to
find another home for her.
It was at that point I said, "No way, I'll take her!" I knew in
my heart this was the way it should have been from the beginning.
Fast forward three years, and a move from Illinois to Colorado,
Miss Priss became a playmate to two "old men" and then two more --one
young female and one three-year-old alpha male. She ruled our house in
a soft and gentle nature. Miss Priss knew no strangers and she greeted
every visitor, including babies, that graced my door.
When I acquired several feral cats she again bridged the gap. Every
male cat in my house thought she was better than catnip! Each one would
take their turn at grooming her. She had no morals, snuggling with each
and every one of them.
Miss Priss changed the course of my life. It was because of her
I learned that I had this special talent to relate to shy, abused,
handicapped and feral cats and the ability to bring the best out in
each one. Later I realized this ability didn't end with cats, but
includes all members of the four-legged kingdom.
Eleven short years she was my friend and companion. I remember
that day in the car well when I screamed at the top of my lungs with
tears running down my face, "Not my Prissy!" I knew that the time had
come when I couldn't fix the problem that plagued her.
And on a warm sunshiny day just before Thanksgiving, she went to
the Rainbow Bridge in the same style that she lived her life. A group
of human friends gathered around to say their goodbyes to her at the
vet's office.

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