Way over yonder is a place that I know
Where I can see shelter from hunger and cold
And the sweet-tastin' good life is so easily found
Way over yonder, that's where I'm bound
I know when I get there, the first thing I'll see
Is the sun shining golden, shining right down on me
Then trouble's gonna lose me, worry leave me behind
And I'll stand up proudly in a true peace of mind
Way over yonder is a place I have seen
It's a garden of wisdom from some long ago dream
Maybe tomorrow I'll find my way
To the land where the honey runs in rivers each day
And the sweet-tastin' good life is so easily found
Way over yonder, that's where I'm bound
Way over yonder, that's where I'm bound
At just before nine this morning, a sweet old bird flew home.
My thanks to everyone who offered prayers and best wishes for Ms. Christopher--we both appreciated it.
Ms. Christopher(1993-2008)
5 comments:
Ms. Christopher was a sweetheart kitty.
When she and her sister, Lottie, were tiny kittens becoming familiar with my Bucktown crib, their new home after being born at the Weinmann house in Michigan, Ms. Christopher let Lottie, the more adventurous and outgoing of the pair, scout and sniff out the safe spots for them to explore. She cautiously lagged behind until she saw that Lottie had survived going into a closet or jumping onto a low ottoman, and then she'd happily follow, her lovely bushy tail swishing elegantly. The first few nights they were with me, I let them into bed with me. Ms. Christopher would snuggle under my arm so close that I'd nearly lose sight of her. But that hoarse little meow of hers--something she'd never grow out of--was constant and clear until she'd fall asleep.
As Ms. Chris got older, she continued to be the cautious cat. Company, and invasion of our domain, was not her thing. Not at all. The minute she heard my bell ring followed by strange footfalls on the old wooden stairwell, she'd scurry under a chair or the sofa. Her favorite hiding spot was beneath my bed. And she'd rarely come out until the invaders had been vanquished. Then she'd be her sweet affectionate self again, stretching out on her back on the hardwood floors or napping in their kitty condo. Honestly, I don't recall if she preferred the first floor or second floor apartment (Can you help me out here, Ed?), but she always looked so darn pretty no matter what.
Once my allergy got the better of me, the girls were adopted by their new (and final)owner, Ed. I got to see them whenever Ed entertained guests at La Casa del Terror, the usual setting for the annual Hallowen Movie Bash (HMB). Chris was still very shy, but she'd learned it was pretty safe to make a grand appearance after a few hours, white fur wild and brilliant as she slowly trotted about, searching for Ed. She'd allow some of us a few pets across her soft back, purr a few times, and then be on her way again. She may have seemed aloof, standoffish, an unfriendly cat, but I know for certain that as soon as I and the other invaders left La Casa, Ms. Christopher, that sweetheart kitty, waited patiently to snuggle under Ed's arm, purr a few times, and fall asleep.
Well done, Ed. I'm sure Ms. Christopher didn't have any regrets, and neither should you. I hope you're hanging in there.
I am so very sorry about your loss. I know how heartbreaking it can be. I was devastated when we lost Other Ernie. Actually, the Rainbow Bridge poem you sent meant a lot. If there is anything Jessie and I can do just let us know.
Hang in there.
-Scott
Aw.Ed. I'm sorry. What a beautiful cat she was. How you holding up?
I'll be thinking of you...
(((HUGS)))
Susie
Thanks, JB, for that lovely tribute. And thanks Jessie, Scott and Suz for the kind words. I'm holding up OK--still sad, still crying at times, but that's how it will be for a bit.
I was actually pretty together this morning, after getting the first uninterrupted night's sleep I'd had in weeks (the past couple of nights I had slept little, if at all), until I got to work and found a condolence card from my coworkers attached to a packet of kitty toys for Olivia "to get distracted with, my supervisor wrote. Tears. Lots of 'em.
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