My grandmother preferred free pets and was therefore not so picky about imperfections or deformities. Enter Daisy (formerly Tuesday), a rescue with a dislocated hip that healed wonky and jutted out to the side. She had a little gangsta limp, too, and that foot sort of tap-danced when she walked.
But she was soft and fluffy and had a tiny tiny face in her big furry head with a patch of black next to her nose that prompted my dad to nickname her “Booger”.
When my grandmother was diagnosed with terminal cancer of the most of her body, she and Daisy went to live in my parents’ house. Daisy kept Gram company in between visitors and while my parents weren’t home. When Gram passed, Daisy lived out her days lounging in windows, begging for treats, and walking across my parents laps, begging for attention, while they watched TV.
Daisy was put down on June 7, 2012 after a long battle against nature seeing as she was probably 115 cat years old and spent her last few months peeing all over the house and playing a particularly stealthy game of Hide-the-Poop with my mom.
Goodbye Daisy. You were very soft and pretty. I will miss your gangsta lean.