All At Sea...

The Wreck
Knud-Andreassen Baade

I know, I know, it's only been three days, but this is proving to be much harder than I thought it would be, and I knew it was going to be hard.

Sasha and I connected the very first time I laid eyes on her, but to tell this story, I mean really tell it, I need to go back to October of 2003. Actually no, let's go back even further, to November of 1998. But, but...

Better still if you just chase the links for those dates mentioned above. And this one as well. Sometimes I can put a few words together that say something to someone, sometimes...

Anyhoo...

Sasha and I met each other on the 20th of October, back in 2003. It was three days after our cat Pat had passed on. A rough time as I recall. (As I recall? Are you kidding me? That day is burned, yes, burned into my memory...). Now I've written of "how I came to have a cat" before, but it surprised me that I hadn't written of how Sasha and Anya joined our merry band. And going through the archives, the feline staff of Anya and Sasha make multitudinous appearances both by reference and in photos.

Imagine, if you will, that between the penultimate and ultimate sentences of the previous paragraph I wandered so far down memory lane that I damned near forgot the amount of mental anguish I am experiencing. In fact, it was rather cathartic seeing pictures of Sasha in happier times. But, as you may well imagine, I digress.

The 20th of October was a Monday, The Missus Herself and I were at the Animal Shelter in our wee town fast by Narragansett Bay, looking for a kitten. Oddly enough, it wasn't my idea. I still needed (actually "wanted" would be a better term, the more discerning among ye will know the difference) some time to mourn, but my better half was adamant. So we went to the shelter.

Among the various felines roaming the area (a big open room where the cats were allowed to roam and play as they desired) were numerous kittens and mature cats. One kitten, a very shy and retiring type, caught the eye of The Missus Herself. While that wee, mostly white, kitten was indeed very pretty, she was also terrified of everything around her. Which concerned me. I look for personality in a cat, an outgoing nature, a curious and inquisitive feline mind, that kitten didn't seem to have any of those attributes. (Though as the years march past, I often wonder what became of her. I hope she was adopted and perhaps yet lives somewhere nearby, happy and content.)

As The Missus Herself tried to connect with that kitten, I saw another kitten, mostly black from where I stood but with white paws, playing nearby on one of those cat tree thingies, ya know, one of these -

(Source)

Anyhoo, there was a chair next to the cat tree where I could more closely observe this wee black and white kitten. When I sat down, she turned to look at me. I gave her a chin scratch, which most cats seem to enjoy, she was no exception. After she rubbed her cheek against my hand, cats have scent glands in their cheeks which they use to mark ownership, she promptly took a swipe at me. Then sat back as if to say "your move hooman." At that precise point in time, I knew that I had found "my" cat. That's how I met Sasha.

After indicating our desire to adopt said feline, The Missus Herself was also immediately entranced by the little furry girl's personality, the lady at the shelter said, "Oh, she has a sister, would you like to see her too? She's in isolation at the moment as she has a minor eye infection."

Well, yes, yes we would like to meet the sister. (Flashback - When we adopted Pat and Tiger in Germany, our mission had been to get a cat, one cat, we returned with two brothers. One of whom, Pat, had a minor eye infection. Cue Twilight Zone music...)

The lady came back with Sasha in her left arm and Anya in her right. The two cats were nearly identical, only as time went by did we learn to distinguish the two by their markings. (Sasha's nose was only half white, Anya's was all white. Sasha had white on both back legs, Anya on only one.) It was truly love at first sight.

At first they didn't have names other than what the folks at the shelter called them, Thunder (that would be Anya) and Lightning (that would be Sasha). It turned out that those names had been given them by the folks who had rescued them from a field in Massachusetts (as I understand the story). So for the first few days that's how we referred to them, an important distinction here is that is NOT what we called them. We didn't know their names yet (long story there).

Eventually we did, it may have been three or four days later, I don't rightly recall. But Anya and Sasha they were named, Anya and Sasha they remain. The two were a matched set for nearly eighteen years, until death separated them from each other and from us.

Anya remains, healthy and happy. Sasha is now but a memory, a very sweet memory.

I told her many times in the last few days of her life, knowing that she didn't have long, that I would love her forever, that I would remember her until we met again in the next world.

Sasha in happier times.

That's a promise I mean to keep.

Post Script: I'd like to mention that a friend of mine from the other side of the country, by some sad twist of fate, lost his cat of eleven years on the very same day we lost Sasha. Mike's cat was also named Sasha. I like to think that they had the opportunity to meet and go through orientation together on the other side. It's a comfort.