Her name was Sinatra. She was my dad's cat, he obviously named her, and she had bright blue eyes-- so the name was only fitting. She was a Siamese, therefore slightly nutty, and she found us on a Sunday.
She found us. The reason I remember it was a Sunday is because my mom, my brother, and I were all at church and when we got home that Sunday my dad had a delightful surprise awaiting us. It was a rainy day in Georgia, (surprise!), and my dad heard meowing at our front door. We had two cats at the time, Gomez and Russel (who both survived the move from GA to CA and then later passed away in ID once we moved here), so like clockwork my dad opened the door and let the cat in. To his surprise, it was a kitten. He put her in a box, gave her food, and gave her milk.
And to our benefit, no one ever claimed her. Full of flees and ready for her first vet visit, she became part of our family.
I say this in the fondest manner, but Sinatra was a strange cat. She became a fat cat but since she was frightened by almost everything she was super speedy. It was rare you would see her come out from underneath my parents bed and rare that she would ever go outside. The only time she came downstairs was at night when everyone was asleep to eat.
And if you know me at all-- I will hold cat if I want to hold a cat. Sinatra was somewhat okay with this mentality but it would usually end with her growling at me until I let her go. She would never hiss at me, scratch, or bite... but it was more likely that one would hear her growl more than her purr.
Except for my dad of course. He was the only she would let pet her. So with her last weeks we were all surprised when she would wait on the ceaderchest by my parents room and greet anybody who walked by encouraging them to pet her. We all loved the last few weeks with her because of this but we definitely all joked suspecting her eyes have gone bad so she thinks anyone who petted her was just my dad.
However, there was a time when my dad was the bad guy. (Or my mom haha). When we were packing to move from Georgia to California ... Sinatra went missing. We packed up everything and moved out of our house into a rental before heading to Cali and we thought we'd never see Sinatra again. It was after we had given up looking for her and when she appeared in the garage of our rental house... my dad (or my mom) had packed her in one of the boxes! It was probably at least half of her fault for being sneaky.
Once in California, her new hiding spot was in the living room behind the TV. Back then, we had one of those huge box set TV's that took up the whole corner of the living room. As a result she was safe and sound back there. And as a kindergarten/first grader when a guest drawing artist came to my elementary school and at an assembly asked, "What silly things do your pets do?" I sure as hell raised my hand... and he drew me a picture of good ol' Sinatra, sitting behind the TV. I still have this drawing and my mom framed it for me and even to this day, I still have it hanging in my room.
Finally, arrived in Moscow ID, her hiding spot wasn't so... sneaky. Sinatra believe that if she placed herself under the covers of my parents bed that no one could find her. Even after numerous experiences of pesty children, like myself, bother her and pick her up... she still hid under those covers. Very clever, Sinatra.
And even though for the majority of her lifetime she spent it growling at me, running away from me, hiding from me, or removing her paws when I tried to hold them... the last couple of weeks meant the world to me. She purred and meowed more than ever (with everyone) and in fact, made it difficult to stop petting her with her cuteness.
Regardless of her strangeness, she will be greatly missed- or perhaps missed because of her strangeness. We don't know where she came from but we are thankful she found us on that rainy Sunday in Georgia and we are thankful for all the Sundays we shared with her up until her very last one.
Rest in peace, Sinatra Stone.
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