Ginger, Sep. 1, 2001 to Feb. 5, 2012
This morning I'm experiencing that special grief, sadness and emptiness that many of you know and have 
lived through. Our cat, Ginger, died last night about 11:30. My husband and I were with her. We expected her to pass during the night, as she lay on the floor between us. Instead, she started to breathe her last as we were there, fully conscious of her final moments. Today we'll begin to notify our friends and family, and make the final arrangements for her. She'll be buried in the spot outside the window where she spent many hours sitting on the window seat looking out. In the winter, she'd go to that seat when it was sunny; in the warm weather, she would gravitate there and we'd see her nostrils move as she breathed in the air from the open window.
The first we know about Ginger's life is that she was at a county shelter with a low adoption rate, a so-called "kill shelter." I've always wondered how long she was with her mother and siblings. She was rescued by the group Last Chance Animal Rescue and placed with a foster family. We know that she lived her first months with that family, which included children, and she grew to be a playful and impish cat, character traits that we knew and loved about her.
When the foster family could no longer keep her, she found a home at Mosaic Feline Refuge in Ann Arbor, where I volunteer. She arrived there September 1, 2002, the month and day we have always marked as her birthday. When I first saw her, she was scared and confused, hiding in the back of her cage. Maybe it was because I am partial to tortoiseshell cats, or maybe we just had a bond from the beginning, but Ginger became my special cat. I worked with her, and in her first few months at the shelter, we'd sit for hours in a back room, away from the other cats, as she gradually adjusted to her new surroundings.
But we at the shelter didn't know her true personality, and assigned her to a small room set aside for the shy cats. We all still laugh at the fact that soon afterwards, her essence blossomed and she made it clear that she was way too rambunctious and high spirited for the shy room. She then was relocated to the main part of the shelter and I remember how she'd greet me when I'd arrive for my volunteer shift: coming around the corner with her tail held high, like she owned me -- and the place! (That trait continued and my husband and I would often see her strut through the kitchen with the same attitude, a not-so-subtle invitation for us to chase her up the stairs.)
Don and I didn't adopt her until May 18, 2004, after our old cat, Smokey had died at age 21 earlier that year. Smokey had communicated to us in no uncertain terms that she was happy, thank you very much, to be the only cat, and we wanted to honor her wishes in her declining years.
She was wanted and loved in at least three homes.
An imp and a joyful spirit, Ginger was. But it is easier now to think and write about her life before she came to live with us. Perhaps in my next diary entry, I'll be able to write about her almost eight years with us. But for now I am coming to grips with my loss, and take some comfort in knowing that those of you reading this will understand.
Bee Friedlander
Published by admin on 02/06/2012 09:43:18
