I've had Blue as long as I've known my husband. When we found him, he was a scrawny, long-tailed little thing with huge olive eyes. There was never a kitten so animated, so bright, so curious and full of energy. I loved him from the moment I saw him...convinced my mother that I would take care of him, despite already having two others, Meanis and Mischief. He had an abscess in his belly that had to be treated almost immediately after taking him in...he would have died if we hadn't taken him to the vet, but despite the fever, he was fine.
We blamed the fever for his change in temperament, but I don't think anything really changed...he just got older. That curiosity was still there, he still loved new things and new people, still brightened any time something new was brought into the environment...and though he was moody, he was always my little boy...and he always came back to me when he thought no-one was looking.
Blue loved bathrooms. When he was a kitten, he had to be kept in a bathroom while his abscess drained. I spent several hours a day in there with him, sitting on the floor, giving him his medicine, petting him, playing with him. He loved the smell of moisture in a bathroom, and from then on, any time I took a shower, he was waiting for me to get out, rubbing and purring in ways he never did outside of that time in that place. There were a lot of times when Fortuna and I moved in together that I would be late for work because I was petting Blue - but I didn't mind.
When Killit came, he was a tiny little orange ball that occasionally hissed and spat. He was terrified of Blue, hissed at him through the door of the pet crate, but Blue wouldn't be deterred. As soon as he had a chance, he climbed into the little box, cornering the kitten, ignoring the paws batting at his face, and began to groom him...Killit eventually stopped fighting, and Blue became 'Momma', keeping an eye on him, sleeping with him, helping him find his way around, not letting him be alone. They've been good friends ever since, and the two of them have weathered a lot together, although in the last few years, Blue slowed down a lot.
One of his favorite toys was a crushed up ball of paper...it would figure that a writer's cat would play with her discarded ideas. Just last week I made a toy from a rod, some string, and a paper ball, and he and I ran back and forth across our apartment, him chasing it, chewing on it, trying to keep it still, then chattering when it leaped off the floor and bounced along the carpet, his thick tail swiping back and forth, Blue the mighty hunter. He had fun, I'm glad he had a chance to play one last time before his health began to fail...I like to think that he played so long, and so hard, despite being tired, because he wanted to say goodbye.
He'd been sick all weekend, a stomach bug we thought. Sometimes he would eat too quickly and be sick, and so it was overlooked at first...but when the vomiting became dry heaving, when he was too weak to clean his paws, when he became lethargic and moved at barely a walk, we knew something wasn't right. This morning, when I woke up and found him facing a corner, barely turning his head to acknowledge me, I knew something wasn't right, but I wasn't sure what. I suppose I was hoping that he was just dehydrated, and so we packed him up and took him to the only vet clinic that was open.
I started to worry when the vet turned on that hard-faced cheerfulness...it felt false. When the blood work came back, she explained that Blue had kidney failure, that it was chronic and that he had less than 25% of one functioning organ - that they could try to save him over the weekend, but even if he came out of it, he still wouldn't have long to live, and that his quality of life would be poor at best. She didn't have to say it, but we both realized that putting him to sleep was really the only humane option. I have never cried so hard in my life. All I could think about was that I wasn't ready, that HE wasn't ready for this - but I guess the world doesn't slow down for anyone. Blue has always been terrified of Vet offices, and so they gave him a sedative so that we could visit with him calmly, so that he wouldn't be afraid. Fortuna and I petted him, talked to him, cried over him, tried to make sure he understood that he was loved, that we needed him, and although he might not understand what was happening, it was for the best.
She slipped the syringe into the catheter, and within a few seconds (it was so terrible and fast), he had gone limp, the little purr he'd managed was silenced, and he took a few deep breaths, settling into a drugged sleep, his aching belly finally, after two days, giving him some peace. Feeling him go limp was hearthbreaking...I couldn't look at him at first, and while the doctor waited, I swallowed down what followed and petted him, begging Mr. Saturday to take him where he needed to go. The second syringe came, and the doctor waited with a stethoscope against his ribs, listening to his last heartbeat while Fortuna and I looked on, both of us crying, waiting.
"He's gone," she said.
We took him back to Pleasanton, where he'd been born, where I'd found him, where Fortuna's parents lived. We buried him in their backyard, near the fence where the cows roam just past the barbed wire. He loved beef in life, from the little bites we fed him as a stray, to the ground meat I'd drop 'accidentally' in the kitchen while he chirped and begged...so he has whole cows now, and grass, and bugs to chase, and we think it was a good place to lay him. Fortuna gave him a paper ball, and I took a claw and some whiskers to remember him by before putting him into the ground.
I will always love him. I will never give birth, but HE was my oldest son.
Blue was born in the summer of 1998. He died today, May 2008.

More pictures of my boy can be found
here.