Poor M’eudail. She was a good kitty. She had a good life. I adopted her only days before I started dating D. She’s been with the two of us from the very beginning. She may not have been the friendliest of cats (my nephew referred to our cats as Haggis and “the mean kitty”) but she certainly had personality.
M’eudail is the Gaelic for “my darling/my treasure.” Walk into any Scottish-Cape Breton home with a baby/puppy/kitten and you will hear a chorus of “Aw, m’eudail” from anyone over 30 years old. It is pronounced approximately as Meh-dal, but as no one ever got it right, over the years her name morphed into something more like or May-thal. She answered to any variation – if she was in the mood to answer at all.
M’eudail was a cat through and through. The house belonged to her, and we were her servants. We could pet her occasionally, with permission. She ate certain foods only, and turned up her nose if we were stupid enough to try to serve her anything of inferior quality. Her favourite treat was a little tuna water mixed with her crunchy food.
My favourite M’eudail moment was the day she discovered the laser pointer was not, in fact, a living thing. She looked at the crazy red dot she’d been chasing, and she looked at D. Then she looked back to the dot. Then back at D. The two connected. She walked away in disgust, realizing she’d been had. She never played the laser pointer game again.
We’ll miss you kitty. I know you are purring loudly and happily, sleeping on a pile of black sweaters in the sky.
We’ve known something was wrong for a while now, but vet visits and bloodwork showed nothing out of the ordinary. After she didn’t appear to eat of drink anything all weekend, we took her to the vet again Tuesday. She had a massive growth in her belly. There was nothing we could do. She was uncomfortable, but not in pain. She will be missed.