Goodbye Miya-moo

It was the summer of 2006. I had just went through a divorce and was trying to survive in a tiny apartment. There was this pretty gray and white cat that greeted me almost every day I came home. It would perch on the sidewalk in front of my car with it’s front paws turned slightly out, looking like it had been waiting all day for me to arrive. I thought it was a very friendly cat, especially when it would trot behind me like a little puppy every time I was outside. I was sure someone in the apartment complex owned the cat. Some days, I would see it on it’s side in the parking lot and panic, thinking someone had hit it. About halfway over to check, I’d see it’s head pop up. It was just napping on the warm pavement. Adam and I would frequently talk about this cat and decided to call it Bob (instead of just saying “that cat”).

We kept trying to find it’s owners, but no one claimed the cat, and I never saw it go to any other door. One night Adam went to take the trash out to the dumpster. When he came back, Bob was in his arms acting like he belonged there. Adam told me that when he was walking back, he saw Bob staring at our apartment building, meowing a very sad-sounding meow. At that moment, Adam knew we would take Bob in and give him a home.

A trip to the vet revealed that Bob was, in fact, a “Bobbi” and we were torn. It was hard NOT to call her “Bob”. We decided to add Miyazaki to her name, and call her “Miya”.

Miya was the matriarch of our ragtag band of cats. Estimated at around 15 years old, she was never short on energy or personality. She would bat toy mice under furniture and make the most godawful sounding warble you’d ever heard. Her meow sounded like she’s been smoking cigarettes for 80 years. We always threatened to put out a Christmas carol CD “to the tune of Miya”. She would perch on the couch beside Adam and closely watch food move from the plate to his mouth. The moment he looked away, out came the Claw of Doom to hook a piece, quick as a flash, whether it was a chicken nugget or a whole pizza slice. She would brrrr a greeting at us whenever we came up to her to say hello. If we weren’t meeting her petting expectations, she would head butt us and lick our foreheads to get our attention. She was happiest when she was perched on our chest while in bed or on the couch. Miya was a rabid chip fan and loved her dry crunchies. She had a “bubble” when it came to the other cats, and as long as they didn’t get in her bubble, life was just peachy. If the other cats forgot or got daring, though, out came the Claw of Doom.

Miya has had constant UTIs and decreased kidney function over the last 2 1/2 years. Through it all, her unique meows and personality have persevered. In late September, she was diagnosed with a bladder tumor. She gave it one last good effort, but it eventually became too much for even her to handle.

This morning, the wonderful people at Scottsville Animal Hospital helped us ease her pain and discomfort, and we all say goodbye as we helped her peacefully pass on.
I’m sure she is happily crunching away at all the chips she could want right now, and knowing that she’s not crouched in the litterbox anymore, exhausted and worn down, is the only comfort to my pain right now.

She was my Miya-moo, my old coot, my Miyaz, with the unique soul and the unique meow to go with it.

I miss you Miya, and always will.