Autobiography of ME

by Abishag

(Continued from Tuesday)

Part Two

I found my storage building again but the humans didn’t know me. I was dirty and bloody and had no tail. I was skin and bones. The taller human brought me some kibble and I ate it, very thankful to have food at last. I slept in the storage building that night.

The next day, the silly dog the humans were dog sitting saw me as I came out of the storage building and started barking. It scared the smaller human who had the silly dog on a leash. When I ran at them happy to see them, she didn’t know me at first. She screamed and the dog kept barking until I ran up to him and licked his ears.

Then the smaller human screamed for joy and scooped me up in her arms crying and laughing and screaming some more. She was sure noisy about me coming home.

But I was glad to be home. I never got lost again.

Instead, I lived in the smaller human’s office and learned to write books. She said I was living in a publishing company and she wrote books and edited them. I helped her a lot. She would read something to me and if I didn’t think it was good, I’d make a face at her and she would change it.

I really had very good taste. The books I helped her with sold well.

Then she and a friend, Harold Konstantelos, wrote the book that made me famous. Oh, and Ira was in it too. Even Kezia, the snobby cat who didn’t want me to live in the house with Ptolemy and her was in the book. Ira had wanted to live in the house too because he thought Kezia was pretty but she didn’t like him.

A big publishing company took the book, Three Wise Cats  A Christmas Story,  and sold it across the country and around the world. I, Abishag, was world famous. There were book reviews in lots of magazines and people told the smaller human and her friend how much they liked the book. I was so pleased people liked my book. Ira was too.

The years went by and the smaller human kept writing and editing. She and her friend wanted another book to be taken by that same publishing company but couldn’t write one that the company wanted.

Some more years went by and then Ira started getting older. He couldn’t jump as far as he had before. He used to run across the open beams of the office ceiling to make the smaller human gasp and worry about him falling. I just looked up at him and told him how much it would hurt if he fell off a beam. He couldn’t do that any more either.

Then Ira had a series of something the smaller human called strokes and got even thinner than he had always been. He couldn’t use his right rear leg, but he hid that from the smaller human. He couldn’t see very well either. Then he wasn’t there in the office with me any more.

I didn’t think I would miss him but I did. Sometimes.

It’s been over a year since Ira went wherever he went. I don’t see quite as well as I did before either, and I’m very thin now too. But I’m still very, very smart. I don’t have to share the smaller human with Ira now. And all of the pats and brushing and combing and little treats are all for ME.

I know when I’m not in the office any more the smaller human and the taller human are both going to be sad. The smaller human will be more sad though because I kept her company every day and I helped her with all of her books.

The smaller human has promised me she’ll write all the rest of my books for me even if I’m not with her and that she’ll see me again some future day. She wants to have a big house and get all of her cats and dogs together to live with her once she’s no longer in her office.

I guess that’s okay. Do humans go to the Rainbow Bridge too?

But I want my own room and my own bed and my little pink mouse that she made for me and my soft blue blanket and some lemon cookies and sweet tea. I deserve them.

I am Abishag. And there will never ever be another cat as smart or cute or as good an editor as me. My autobiography will be a best seller.

Ira thinks he’s as good an editor but he’s not.

I am the best. And I know I am the best Abishag that ever was.

So there.

It seemed appropriate to publish Abishag’s autobiography this week, as it’s been a year exactly since she left for the Rainbow Bridge. I hope I wrote this just the way she wanted it. – Editor


Laters, Abishag

As you, our readers, are extremely observant, I’m sure you’ve all noticed the erratic postings from Abishag, especially once 2021 started. The wonderful, funny, rambunctious, bossy, adventurous Bombay Siamese black cat that had been partners with her brother Ira in our publishing office, Write Up The Road, began to decline in health.

Abishag was finally slowing down (except for beating up packing papers and writing her books) and the arthritis in her hips was becoming very painful. She lost weight, began to hear less well, and then came down with a severe Upper Respiratory Infection with awful nosebleeds about four weeks ago. At 16 years old, home care wasn’t sufficient.

Several trips to the excellent veterinarians at Reelfoot Animal Hospital seemed to help – but only for a day or two at a time. And last week, she was definitely losing ground. She couldn’t eat, groaned when she lay down to try and sleep, and then Friday March 5, suffered what apparently was a light stroke. I’d been sleeping in my office to be with her, and she had another, much more severe stroke about 3:20 am Sunday morning.

A little after 9 am Sunday March 7, Abishag set out on her final journey to the Rainbow Bridge. Now I must believe there’s no paralysis, no arthritis, no pain, no shortness of breath – and she can run and leap again like her brother Ira. She also must have her tail back, as her form on the other side is perfect.

This office is certainly empty. She had a real presence, and incredible intelligence – and is terribly missed. We love you, Abishag. May we all meet again at the Rainbow Bridge and cross into a wonderful Heaven together, never to be parted again.

Goodbye for now, sweetheart. I hope there are cooperative dragonflies and moles for you to hunt but not harm. Laters, Abishag.

A demon strikes again

Four or five of the Kibble Kids had romped off with Uncle Fred to the far perimeter of the farm, happy to be in the cool grass after a terribly hot day. The mockingbirds were diving, swooping down to try and peck them, and I was threatening the birds with a stick and equally futile words.

Sundown was approaching. Too early for owls to be hunting, and too late for hawks to be out. But just the right time, apparently, for an evil from hell to be watching and waiting a chance to snatch a five-month-old kitten. Big, brave coyote, to pick on a kitten I could still pick up in one hand.

I shouldn’t have walked back from the perimeter, thinking they’d follow me; they were having too much fun jumping, pouncing on and chasing each other. The mockingbirds kept me busy as I tried to retrieve each kitten, and Uncle Fred was outrunning or outwitting the dive bombers most of the time. I got everybody into the building in which they spend the night … and then realized Annie hadn’t come with us.

We’re all still in shock after the loss on Monday, July 27. Animals grieve too, don’t let anyone tell you they don’t. Fred hunted for Annie until dark, just as I did, and Uncle Pete kept watch all night for a tiny little all-black body to slip into the yard and curl up with her wooden pillow.

Annie Rose, you were named for your grandma, Mama Rosa, and for Annie Oakley. You were a very personable little character, with legs a bit shorter than your brothers and sisters – just like your father, Vader, from the neighboring farm. We on this side hope and pray you’re at the Rainbow Bridge together, and we expect to see you again someday. God bless, sweetheart. We love you.

Annie Rose Oakley: Feb. 25 – July 27, 2020