Pictured above is Gabby and her "sister" Luna playing their favorite fishing game on my wife's tablet. I put sisters in quotation marks because they are not blood kin, but rather are the last of my wife's brood of nine cats. Luna was a Tuxedo and Gabby, a black Burmese.
We lost Luna to a heart attack a few years ago. Luna adopted me as her human as soon as she met me. She was my first cat master. I was a dog kinda guy before her.
Gabby, when I met her, was the cat that didn't speak. She would move her mouth, but nothing came out, unless it was 2 AM in the morning. Then she would find a toy and walk around the living room yowling at the top of her lungs.
Both cats belonged to my wife. But Gabby was HER cat and Sue was Gabby's human. I have already told the story of how Sue and I found each other again after 48 years, were both single, got together and after a couple of years, got married.
Gabby and Luna came with us when Sue moved to Phoenix Arizona. And Gabby alone came when we moved to Windsock Ranch. She stayed with Sue just as she always had. Beneath her feet in the kitchen, sharing her chair while watching TV, and cuddled close at bed time. If Sue got up in the middle of the night, so did Gabby, her four legged shadow for more than fourteen years.
Somewhere along the way Gabby found her voice again. Whatever trauma had caused her to stop speaking before Sue adopted her from Pets-mart was forgotten while living with us at the ranch.
Happy cat.
Gabby was struck down the day after Christmas by unknown medical causes. We found her alone, here under my desk, unconscious, but breathing. She was not responsive, and lasted but 3 hours before finally passing.
Gabby, the cat that didn't speak, who was my wife's closest friend and confidant was silent again. And, it may be cliche, but her silence is deafening.
Be Well
