Of all the kitties I have ever had the privilege of acquiring, Petunia is my special baby, the furry love of my life.
I brought Petunia home from the animal shelter in June of 1988, when she was about six or seven weeks old, captivated by her the moment I first laid eyes on her, both by her beauty and her calm manner of gazing up at me with an open, inquiring look. Unlike so many kittens, when I got her home and put her down in the floor, she didn't hide, but began exploring, traipsing about the house like her name was on the deed and she wanted to make sure everything was up to snuff. When my husband came home and got sat, she climbed up his leg and then his shirt, stopping only when she was in his face, where she said a pretty big meow for so small a kitty, as if to say "I'm Here!". Of course, his heart melted at once, and it was he who named her Petunia.
The white tip of her tail wove through the house like a banner for the next fourteen years. It was her home, and we were her people.
Petunia was the most intelligent cat I have ever known, and I've known cats all my life. We never taught her tricks, she taught herself things by watching us. For instance, she could open any door on the place, be it folding, sliding, or with a knob. Folding and sliding doors she opened by butting on them until enough of a crack appeared she could get her nose or a paw in. Doorknobs she turned if she could find a table or chair she could reach them from, pawing the knob until it turned for her. A hook and eye she simply lifted with a paw. Once she got a door open, she didn't necessarily enter the room, closet, or cabinet - she just wanted to peek inside, or perhaps let us know that she could get the doors open and go where she liked anywhere in the house.
Petunia was our constant companion. Wherever we were, that's where she wanted to be, sitting beside or on one or the other of us, purring before we ever reached out and petted her. Very attuned to our moods, she always knew when we needed cheering, and would climb in a lap, or entertain us with her antics, playing with her toys or getting up a game of peek-a-boo, darting behind furniture or behind a doorway and peeking, hiding, then peeking again, to dash across the room to do it again from behind something else. During a tornado outbreak in 1999, her composure let us know that, though tornadoes were on all four sides of town and the other kitties were hiding, we were in no danger. Sensing how nervous the storms made me, she stayed by my side, purring, letting us know everything was going to be all right.
Of course she was Boss Cat. The other kitties knew that if Petunia wasn't happy, they weren't going to be happy either. So long as they behaved themselves, though, she was a sociable kitty. She also liked people, and after a thorough looking over, would come forward and greet everybody who came to the house, sitting before them with great dignity, meowing softly once or twice to get their attention. Once she got to know you, she'd come right to you whenever you came to visit, but wouldn't crowd you. If you didn't feel like a lot of kitty attention, she respected that. Most everybody wanted her attention, charmed by her gracious ways and loving demeanor.
We had our wonderful Petunia for fourteen years. Then she began to do poorly of a sudden, and we of course took her right to the Vet, who gave us dreadful news - our beloved kitty had leukemia, not the feline variety they have a vaccine for, but the horrible blood cancer. The end came quickly, our Petunia passing away in her sleep even as we were discussing having the Vet go ahead and help her across the Rainbow Bridge.
Petunia, I will miss you to my dying day, but I know the day will come when you will greet me in Heaven, leading our other kitties to us. I love you, my wonderful baby Petunia!
Cats = pure love!
Many warm thanks to Hans J. for his time, effort, and thoughtfulness!
I brought Petunia home from the animal shelter in June of 1988, when she was about six or seven weeks old, captivated by her the moment I first laid eyes on her, both by her beauty and her calm manner of gazing up at me with an open, inquiring look. Unlike so many kittens, when I got her home and put her down in the floor, she didn't hide, but began exploring, traipsing about the house like her name was on the deed and she wanted to make sure everything was up to snuff. When my husband came home and got sat, she climbed up his leg and then his shirt, stopping only when she was in his face, where she said a pretty big meow for so small a kitty, as if to say "I'm Here!". Of course, his heart melted at once, and it was he who named her Petunia.
The white tip of her tail wove through the house like a banner for the next fourteen years. It was her home, and we were her people.
Petunia was the most intelligent cat I have ever known, and I've known cats all my life. We never taught her tricks, she taught herself things by watching us. For instance, she could open any door on the place, be it folding, sliding, or with a knob. Folding and sliding doors she opened by butting on them until enough of a crack appeared she could get her nose or a paw in. Doorknobs she turned if she could find a table or chair she could reach them from, pawing the knob until it turned for her. A hook and eye she simply lifted with a paw. Once she got a door open, she didn't necessarily enter the room, closet, or cabinet - she just wanted to peek inside, or perhaps let us know that she could get the doors open and go where she liked anywhere in the house.
Petunia was our constant companion. Wherever we were, that's where she wanted to be, sitting beside or on one or the other of us, purring before we ever reached out and petted her. Very attuned to our moods, she always knew when we needed cheering, and would climb in a lap, or entertain us with her antics, playing with her toys or getting up a game of peek-a-boo, darting behind furniture or behind a doorway and peeking, hiding, then peeking again, to dash across the room to do it again from behind something else. During a tornado outbreak in 1999, her composure let us know that, though tornadoes were on all four sides of town and the other kitties were hiding, we were in no danger. Sensing how nervous the storms made me, she stayed by my side, purring, letting us know everything was going to be all right.
Of course she was Boss Cat. The other kitties knew that if Petunia wasn't happy, they weren't going to be happy either. So long as they behaved themselves, though, she was a sociable kitty. She also liked people, and after a thorough looking over, would come forward and greet everybody who came to the house, sitting before them with great dignity, meowing softly once or twice to get their attention. Once she got to know you, she'd come right to you whenever you came to visit, but wouldn't crowd you. If you didn't feel like a lot of kitty attention, she respected that. Most everybody wanted her attention, charmed by her gracious ways and loving demeanor.
We had our wonderful Petunia for fourteen years. Then she began to do poorly of a sudden, and we of course took her right to the Vet, who gave us dreadful news - our beloved kitty had leukemia, not the feline variety they have a vaccine for, but the horrible blood cancer. The end came quickly, our Petunia passing away in her sleep even as we were discussing having the Vet go ahead and help her across the Rainbow Bridge.
Petunia, I will miss you to my dying day, but I know the day will come when you will greet me in Heaven, leading our other kitties to us. I love you, my wonderful baby Petunia!
Cats = pure love!
Many warm thanks to Hans J. for his time, effort, and thoughtfulness!
Of all the kitties I have ever had the privilege of acquiring, Petunia is my special baby, the furry love of my life.
I brought Petunia home from the animal shelter in June of 1988, when she was about six or seven weeks old, captivated by her the moment I first laid eyes on her, both by her beauty and her calm manner of gazing up at me with an open, inquiring look. Unlike so many kittens, when I got her home and put her down in the floor, she didn't hide, but began exploring, traipsing about the house like her name was on the deed and she wanted to make sure everything was up to snuff. When my husband came home and got sat, she climbed up his leg and then his shirt, stopping only when she was in his face, where she said a pretty big meow for so small a kitty, as if to say "I'm Here!". Of course, his heart melted at once, and it was he who named her Petunia.
The white tip of her tail wove through the house like a banner for the next fourteen years. It was her home, and we were her people.
Petunia was the most intelligent cat I have ever known, and I've known cats all my life. We never taught her tricks, she taught herself things by watching us. For instance, she could open any door on the place, be it folding, sliding, or with a knob. Folding and sliding doors she opened by butting on them until enough of a crack appeared she could get her nose or a paw in. Doorknobs she turned if she could find a table or chair she could reach them from, pawing the knob until it turned for her. A hook and eye she simply lifted with a paw. Once she got a door open, she didn't necessarily enter the room, closet, or cabinet - she just wanted to peek inside, or perhaps let us know that she could get the doors open and go where she liked anywhere in the house.
Petunia was our constant companion. Wherever we were, that's where she wanted to be, sitting beside or on one or the other of us, purring before we ever reached out and petted her. Very attuned to our moods, she always knew when we needed cheering, and would climb in a lap, or entertain us with her antics, playing with her toys or getting up a game of peek-a-boo, darting behind furniture or behind a doorway and peeking, hiding, then peeking again, to dash across the room to do it again from behind something else. During a tornado outbreak in 1999, her composure let us know that, though tornadoes were on all four sides of town and the other kitties were hiding, we were in no danger. Sensing how nervous the storms made me, she stayed by my side, purring, letting us know everything was going to be all right.
Of course she was Boss Cat. The other kitties knew that if Petunia wasn't happy, they weren't going to be happy either. So long as they behaved themselves, though, she was a sociable kitty. She also liked people, and after a thorough looking over, would come forward and greet everybody who came to the house, sitting before them with great dignity, meowing softly once or twice to get their attention. Once she got to know you, she'd come right to you whenever you came to visit, but wouldn't crowd you. If you didn't feel like a lot of kitty attention, she respected that. Most everybody wanted her attention, charmed by her gracious ways and loving demeanor.
We had our wonderful Petunia for fourteen years. Then she began to do poorly of a sudden, and we of course took her right to the Vet, who gave us dreadful news - our beloved kitty had leukemia, not the feline variety they have a vaccine for, but the horrible blood cancer. The end came quickly, our Petunia passing away in her sleep even as we were discussing having the Vet go ahead and help her across the Rainbow Bridge.
Petunia, I will miss you to my dying day, but I know the day will come when you will greet me in Heaven, leading our other kitties to us. I love you, my wonderful baby Petunia!
Cats = pure love!
Many warm thanks to Hans J. for his time, effort, and thoughtfulness!
I brought Petunia home from the animal shelter in June of 1988, when she was about six or seven weeks old, captivated by her the moment I first laid eyes on her, both by her beauty and her calm manner of gazing up at me with an open, inquiring look. Unlike so many kittens, when I got her home and put her down in the floor, she didn't hide, but began exploring, traipsing about the house like her name was on the deed and she wanted to make sure everything was up to snuff. When my husband came home and got sat, she climbed up his leg and then his shirt, stopping only when she was in his face, where she said a pretty big meow for so small a kitty, as if to say "I'm Here!". Of course, his heart melted at once, and it was he who named her Petunia.
The white tip of her tail wove through the house like a banner for the next fourteen years. It was her home, and we were her people.
Petunia was the most intelligent cat I have ever known, and I've known cats all my life. We never taught her tricks, she taught herself things by watching us. For instance, she could open any door on the place, be it folding, sliding, or with a knob. Folding and sliding doors she opened by butting on them until enough of a crack appeared she could get her nose or a paw in. Doorknobs she turned if she could find a table or chair she could reach them from, pawing the knob until it turned for her. A hook and eye she simply lifted with a paw. Once she got a door open, she didn't necessarily enter the room, closet, or cabinet - she just wanted to peek inside, or perhaps let us know that she could get the doors open and go where she liked anywhere in the house.
Petunia was our constant companion. Wherever we were, that's where she wanted to be, sitting beside or on one or the other of us, purring before we ever reached out and petted her. Very attuned to our moods, she always knew when we needed cheering, and would climb in a lap, or entertain us with her antics, playing with her toys or getting up a game of peek-a-boo, darting behind furniture or behind a doorway and peeking, hiding, then peeking again, to dash across the room to do it again from behind something else. During a tornado outbreak in 1999, her composure let us know that, though tornadoes were on all four sides of town and the other kitties were hiding, we were in no danger. Sensing how nervous the storms made me, she stayed by my side, purring, letting us know everything was going to be all right.
Of course she was Boss Cat. The other kitties knew that if Petunia wasn't happy, they weren't going to be happy either. So long as they behaved themselves, though, she was a sociable kitty. She also liked people, and after a thorough looking over, would come forward and greet everybody who came to the house, sitting before them with great dignity, meowing softly once or twice to get their attention. Once she got to know you, she'd come right to you whenever you came to visit, but wouldn't crowd you. If you didn't feel like a lot of kitty attention, she respected that. Most everybody wanted her attention, charmed by her gracious ways and loving demeanor.
We had our wonderful Petunia for fourteen years. Then she began to do poorly of a sudden, and we of course took her right to the Vet, who gave us dreadful news - our beloved kitty had leukemia, not the feline variety they have a vaccine for, but the horrible blood cancer. The end came quickly, our Petunia passing away in her sleep even as we were discussing having the Vet go ahead and help her across the Rainbow Bridge.
Petunia, I will miss you to my dying day, but I know the day will come when you will greet me in Heaven, leading our other kitties to us. I love you, my wonderful baby Petunia!
Cats = pure love!
Many warm thanks to Hans J. for his time, effort, and thoughtfulness!
