You would think after Grandpa that I would've given up predicting - incorrectly - the ETD (Estimated Time of Death) of anyone in the family. You would be wrong. After that sweet and loving good-bye to the beautiful Isabella, she actually began to improve for a bit. In fact, she lived a full week and 3 hours after we woke Devon up at 2am to say his farewells.
Most of that time was spent in a cat bed on my bed, feted and fawned over 18 hours a day. Up until the last 2 days, anyway, where Wannabe became so concerned about her that he kept sitting on her and trying to hatch her. We had to move her into the bathroom at that point. She finally slipped away just after 5am on Sunday morning.
Since she ended up so quickly an only kitten, and with a pretty inept mother (sorry, Squishy - love ya anyway), there were many aspects of catness that she had to learn from the other cats. We got a big kick out of watching her copying the bigger guys. She learned to curl up on our bed and sleep from Wannabe. Also how to bathe. Pretty much, Squishy's idea of bathing is to stand in front of one of the other cats till they give up and wash her. I'm glad there was someone else to teach Isabella how to keep clean.
She learned how to sit erect and stare disapprovingly from Expensia, though she was too cute to be really intimidating. She learned how to play from the terrible trio I still call "The Kittens", even though they're fully grown. Several are fully over-grown. But the one thing she still didn't do was purr.
Pretty much a cat that doesn't purr is disabled. Practically defective. Bell-bell had a lot going for her, but no matter how much we lavished attention on her, not even one little brrt could be heard. We'd long since given up any hope, figuring she'd always be a non-purrer like her mother. It was the only thing that kept her from being purrfect.
Then she got sick again, and I took to mixing her antibiotics in milk. It was like magic! She even knew when it was time for the next dose, because she would follow me into the bathroom, jump from floor to toilet to drawer, and PURRRRR as loudly as she could to let me know she was ready.
That's how I'll always remember her - brave, funny, and coming into her own.
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