Speedo was a gray tabby who showed up at our house late in March 1988. We didn't know where he came from, and we didn't realize how lucky we were that he'd chosen to live with us. He was one of the best cats ever. He wasn't "like a member of the family." He was a member of the family. He eventually grew up to weigh around 18 pounds. There was a lot of him to love.
For the last couple of years, Speedo had arthritis in his spine and back legs, but being a cat of great courage and spunk, he was able to get around remarkably well. He never complained, and he seemed to be doing fine.
On Wednesday evening, April 23, Speedo went downhill suddenly and fast. By the next morning, he could hardly move, and I rushed him to the vet. The vet did a lot for him, and when I picked him up on Friday, he was almost his old self.
It didn't last. On Sunday, he went down hill just as suddenly, but even faster.
I had a dream about him last Wednesday night. I dreamed that he and I were both in the house where I grew up. Speedo was young and lithe and fast. So lithe and fast, in fact, that he ran straight up the wall, nearly to the ceiling. Then he turned and jumped to the narrow ledge that ran above the windows. He walked along it without putting a foot wrong, front or back. His head was high, his spine straight. When he reached the end of the ledge, he jumped to the bed, light as air, and purring as loud as only Speedo could purr.
Very early on Monday morning, Speedo left us. I hope that when he went from the light to the dark, he was having my dream. I hope that somewhere along the way he entered into it and that right now he's running lithe and strong and fast and purring as loud as only Speedo can purr.