We buried my baby today beneath the bird feeder she loved to haunt. My grief is relieved only by the thought that she waited just for me; so we could be together and I could breathe her last breath. We got back late from camping, and she was hiding in Devon’s closet. So close to the end she was cold. I moved her into the room so I could hold her, and she yelled in pain or in acknowledgement that I was there, I don’t know which. She looked directly at me, and I felt the 16 years of love and bonding flow through us both. She was ready to move on, this time without me, into God’s waiting arms.

She was more dog than cat. Most cats are aloof and independent, but Taz had the look of adoration in her eyes that only dogs usually have. We bonded at her birth as I claimed her for my own. It was a cool spring evening, April 10, 1992. I’m close to all the babies but me and Taz struck a bond that I’ve never had with another animal. I loved her like a daughter for nearly 16 years. She missed her birthday by 10 days.

Tigger, Tut and Momma never skipped a beat. They knew far longer than I did that Taz was dieing. I guess I knew I just didn’t want to accept it. I wished we had not gone camping that weekend, so I could have spent a few more moments with her. But I know she knows I loved her with a passion and furiousity that only a real mother could have.

She will be missed. Her gentle eyes, and perfect soul, her graceful and giving heart. I will love her to my own dieing day.