Deceased.

I got to work that day like any other day. June 27, 2006.

I looked at my bulletin board above my desk as I started up my computer. Moxie. There was a picture of her and Andrew, lying on the couch before his transplant. It was one of the last pictures we had taken before sending her to live with Duncan for a few months (until the doctors gave the go ahead that we could have our animals back). She was a terror. But we loved her. I felt guilty that I hadn't been out to see her in awhile. She had been living with Duncan for about 2 months now and I had only gone to see her once. I brushed the thought aside and turned my attention to my computer.

Thirty minutes later, my phone rang. Duncan. I got a sick feeling. I answered tentatively.

"I'm not sure how to tell you this... I'm really sorry.... I don't know what happened.... I woke up this morning, and she wasn't moving. She's dead."

My heart sunk. Somehow I knew the news the moment he called. Of course, it was Moxie. I didn't ask a lot of questions. I knew she was a special cat. She had been rescued by us and had all sorts of health problems from the beginning. From her first vet visit, weighing less than a pound to her second a week later, where she had doubled her body weight and became alive with kittenhood. She was special. I didn't cry on the phone. I assured Duncan that it wasn't his fault. Repeatedly. Then I hung up.

I looked up above my computer at my bulletin board. It hadn't been that long since I was looking at the same picture thinking that I needed to go visit her. The tears hit me. I sat at my desk and cried uncontrollably for what seemed like forever. That cat. She was a bitch. Pure demon. But I loved her. I called Andrew up at the hospital and sobbed to him on the phone. He could hardly comprehend a word I said. Finally, I calmed down and he understood. I had to get back to work.

Later that day, I got a phone call from my niece. I never answered. I was at work and didn't feel like talking to anyone. Apparently she overheard my sister telling her husband what had happened and demanded my phone number. She called and said something along the lines of, "Krista, It's me, Brooke.. you don't have to be mad anymore because I could, umm.. buy you a new cat that looks like Moxie, but only nicer than her. So give me a call at ______.... k, we're always home, just call us. K, bye." I smiled through teary eyes. What a doll. I couldn't call her back. I couldn't cry anymore at work. She would make me cry.

I found out later that she had scrounged together 90 cents from her piggy bank to help us buy a new cat. Children. I would need to wait awhile before replacing such a unique cat.