16 Septembers ago, my boyfriend at the time and I went to the Lincoln County Animal Shelter in Edgecomb, ME, to get a kitten. I wanted a puppy, but was talked into a kitten. Begrudgingly, I agreed, but I set parameters; only a grey or orange kitten would do. No run of the mill stripy cats for me, thank you very much. There were no grey or orange kittens. We spent a long time standing in the kitten room discussing our options. One persistent little tabby started by rubbing himself against my ankles, then he jumped into my folded arms, and finally jumped from the windowsill to my shoulders and draped himself across me like a shawl. Despite the fact that he wasn’t anything I had imagined, we took him home.

Clifford loved pumpkin from the first day we took him home. I have no kitten pictures online, but here is a cat-pumpkin picture.

We had just returned from a Phish festival called the Clifford Ball. After much deliberation, we decided that was his name. Clifford was the funniest kitten. His favorite perches included the top of the bookcase, the refrigerator, and my shoulders. He had the loudest purr ever. Always a bit doglike, he was the best cat for me.

He has been with me all these years. He traveled to Maryland with me when I left Maine. On warm spring nights you could find him curled up on the windowsill, of my first Baltimore apartment, talking to everyone as they walked by. He was here through the addition of first another cat, then a dog, a husband, and two children. Through it all he remained his funny quirky dog-like self.

I thought I was going to lose him almost two years ago, when he rapidly went from 21 lbs down to almost 8 lbs. The vet told me that he either was in acute kidney failure and would probably die, or he was diabetic and could be fixed right up. It turned out to be diabetes and he lived almost two more happy years.

Sunday, March 17th. I woke up to Clifford screaming. I found him shaking in a pool of urine. I cleaned him up and we went off to the emergency vet with my mother. He had several seizures on the way there. The vet thought it might be related to his diabetes, so I went home while they ran some tests and observed him. Later they called me to tell me that he wasn’t responding to the anti-seizure medication. I then made the decision to put him down.

My friend came and got me and we went to the vet. Poor Clifford continued to have seizures until the very end. He purred when he heard me talk to him. As much as it hurt to put him down, it was a relief to see him at peace from the seizures. The vet was amazing and helped me feel good about my decision.

When I came home, I had to tell Ada that Clifford had died. Gently, I explained that Clifford had been very sick, and the doctors tried to fix him but could, and that he had died which meant he was no longer alive and wouldn’t ever come home. I also told her that Tilly, our other cat, and myself were both really sad, and that it was okay to be sad. I asked her to be kind to Tilly. She said, “Okay, Mom, I’m hungry. I wasn’t sure how much she understood. This morning she woke up to find Tilly at the end of the bed. From the other room I heard “Morning Tilly, you sad. It’s okay to be sad. Clifford was very sick, sorry you so sad”. My heart melted.