Our kitty Miette died today. We don't know how old she was -- we had her for 12 years and a couple of months. The vet seemed to think she was somewhere north of 15. She'd been getting feeble this past year; she took a bad turn last night, but we hoped she might get better. This morning she drank some water and slept on the blanket in a box we fixed for her. Braunbeck was trying to get her to drink a little more water and I was getting ready to take her to the emergency vet down the road when she stretched, coughed, and she was gone. I'm glad at least that we were able to give her a lot of affection yesterday and today.
We had her since early November of 2000; she showed up on the doorstep at our old apartment, starving and pregnant. She'd clearly been abused and had sore ribs and broken teeth; based on her reaction to people wearing boots, some boot-wearing asshole had been kicking her. We took her to the vet and kept her in the basement (my roommate's male Tonkinese was hostile towards her), and there she had her kittens.
She was extremely protective of her kittens -- she would attack anyone who came down into the basement. I still have scars on my back from one incident. She was so aggressive and feral I never thought she could be a pet, but we found homes for her kittens, got her fixed, and after a few years of love and safety she turned into a really great cat. In recent years she was the one cat of ours who would come out to greet visitors (our other cats, former feral kittens, run and hide when strangers come).
I've been weeping on and off ever since she died. I'm going to miss her a whole lot. I got bad news last week, and I hope a third thing isn't waiting in the wings.