CluePhone

So, today has been one year since I had to have Gigi put to sleep. I’m finally writing a tribute to her, in a way. Partly because I am no longer in so much danger of bursting into tears thinking about the loss.

Her full name was Genevieve, pronounced in the French manner, from what I understand. Sort of “shawn-vee-evv” as opposed to “jen-a-veeve.” It’s my cousin’s name, and I always thought it was really pretty. I got her because sister Twisty had recently moved to the Bay Area, and couldn’t wait to get a kitten. A coworker of hers had a cat that had a litter, and they were available for adoption. Twisty got Felix, and then called me and said “There’s only one other black cat in the litter, and it’s a female.” I went to check it out, and she came home with me. As if I could have resisted this little ball of fluff. (They said the kittens were 6 weeks old, but we were suspicious because they were so small, and momma kitty was not taking care of them.) In the end, it didn’t matter.

She was potty trained from the day I got her, and I have to say that it was fairly amusing watching her have to do kitty-pull-ups to actually get into the litter box. She’d flip over the edge, a little puff of litter dust would go up, and then all you’d see was this tiny little tail moving around. Her little poo’s were so small, they fell through the strainer at first. She may have been small, but she was a certified spitfire.

Everyone told me that she would calm down after she got fixed. So not true, in her case. She leapt up on top of the door, as she was wont to do, and I actually said “If you tear out your stitches, I am NOT taking you back to the Vet.” She just looked down at me, from on high.

One day, Twisty called and said “You’re never going to believe what Felix is doing. He’s fetching like a dog!” “Really?” I replied, and balled up a piece of paper and threw it. Sure enough, Gigi ran to get it and brought it back. There began a very amusing, and sometimes (often) tiring game, of “Fetch With Gigi.” One of her favorite things to fetch was cigarette butts. And no, I’m not proud of that. I had to start either emptying the ashtrays all the time or covering them up. I have a picture of her, walking across the floor, with a cigarette butt in her mouth. Filter end in the right way too.

Probably her best “feat” was turning on one of the gas burners of the stove while I was at work. I walked into the apartment thinking “Wow, it’s really hot in here!” while she wailed and meowed at me more then usual. Yeah, flames shooting in the air from the burner. Not only did she turn it on, she turned it all the way to High.

Thereafter, my stove looked like I had bought it at a flea market or something, as I had to remove all the knobs.

She slept with me like a person, always on the right-side of me, with her head on a pillow. I so miss that. But, I am not looking to get another pet at this point. As a fellow pet owner at work said, “You just don’t want your heart broken again.” And that really is the truth. I feel fortunate to have been a part of her life, as she was part of mine. I miss you, Gigi. And I’m stronger now. I’m only crying a little bit at this point, but I’ll never, ever forget you and what you meant to me.