Angel's original daddy was our dear friend Larry who died of cancer. She never left his side until the end. When he passed away, she became ours. She was the most intuitive, soulful cat. She knew who was hurting--even if it was just mentally.



She loved it when I would sit with her on the couch and she could walk laps around me--standing on my magazine, reaching her nose out to me, and making sure I petted her on her terms. 



When I would leave for work in the morning, I would go out into the living room and she would jump up on the trunk we use as a coffee table and do her usual head bob and make her usual "hmm" sound like she didn't really want me to go. I'd pet her, tell her I love her, and give her smooches. Then she'd stare at me as I walked off--I'm sure a little bit put off.



She never wanted to bother our other cats and never wanted to be bothered by them. She just wanted her mommy around. As long as she knew I was around, she was okay. She didn't necessarily want to be petted or bothered, but she wanted to see me.

 

The night she passed, she waited for me to come home and then in her own way told me it was time. I believe, in fact, that she told me in her own way to come home when I did. I held her and told her to go home until she did. To the end, she held my finger with her paw. That was so her. I am so honored that she waited for me, and I'm so honored that I held her as she went to see Larry. I am heartbroken, but I know she is well again, not suffering, and waiting for us across the Rainbow Bridge.