Callie was a senior cat when I adopted her. I have never since seen a cat with such magnificent markings around her eyes; the black streaks always made her look like she was wearing black eyeliner. She was pretty lazy, easy going, and a great lap cat. In the short time I had her, she always ambled into my bedroom around dusk, sprawled out on my pillow, and stared at me through the doorway until I stopped resisting and curled up next to her. I believe I had Callie for about a year or less; when she suddenly fell violently ill, I took her in to the vet, only to find out she had what appeared to be liver cancer. The illness had become terminal--she couldn't be cured, and she had no time left. She was in serious pain, and couldn't keep anything down whatsoever, so as hard a decision as it was, I had her put to sleep. It still hurts, but I find comfort in the fact that she was warm, comfortable, and in my arms to the end, instead of continually growing sicker, weaker, and more miserable, and possibly dying while I was out of the house. Callie was with me a very short time, but she was finally the center of attention instead of just 'cat number three.' She was spoiled, loved, and very, very happy, and it warms my heart that I was able to make her fuzzy dreams come true, even for a short time.
