You were a rare female orange tabby - most are males. Your light orange striped coat was drab and your face was stained around your runny and twitchy right eye. You were very skinny when I first meant you - why and afraid of my touch, too.

I gave food, shelter and a scratch on the head - in time. You would cower a few feet away from the food bowls - always the last to eat. But, with good food, you were finally putting on weight - even beginning to come to my call and respond to my loving touch.

And, then you disappeared for a while and when you came back your hipbones protruded and you limped - one or both of your back legs were painful. Again, you were shy and afraid of my touch. I watched you carefully and when you stopped coming to eat, I carried food each day to where I thought you were hiding. Within a few days, you could only hop like a rabbit and hide very close to home - but not close enough to catch or even touch you.

Today, I found what was left of you after another had finished you off. I hope it was fast and painless - maybe the predator came upon you after you died. I’m sorry your life was short and filled pain. Every cat’s life should be filled with good food, lots of love and a toy mouse or two.
Although, I still have eight other wild cats - there was only one you! Goodbye, Momma Kitty.

Debra Davis Hinkle grew up in Manhattan Beach, California and currently lives in San Luis Obispo with her husband and their pets. Debra is a graduate of CSU, Long Beach. She usually writes about her passion for animals and her concern for child abuse.

Her latest publication is available at Barnes & Noble. Debra has finished a childrens book on dyslexia–yet unpublished. She is currently working with three other published authors on a book related to grief issues.

When not writing, Debra can be found riding her horse.
She can be reached at mailto:dkhinkle@pacbell.net>mailto:dkhinkle@pacbell.net dkhinkle@pacbell.net