Since I was 18, I had a little goofy black cat named Tuesday. I got her from a house on the west side when my landlords at the time told me I couldn’t get a dog. Then they threw in, “You can get a cat, though, if you want!”
My roommate, Greg, was gone for the summer, so I was alone in the house. I used to drive to clear my head, or to just think sometimes (back when gas was cheap) and that’s what I did this one Saturday. I saw a sign for free kittens, and without even knowing if I was going to take one, I stopped in. As I was talking to the family, one little black kitten climbed my jeans leg with her little needle claws, and when she reached my knee, she let out a little beep. I immediately fell in love.
I have no idea how I came up with her name. As we were driving home, she kept climbing up on my head, wanting to wrestle. Somehow, I said “Tuesday” once while getting her off of me, and I liked it and it stuck. I didn’t get her on a Tuesday, she was born on Easter 1998.
Since then, she’s been the PERFECT cat. She comes when she’s called, she doesn’t scratch much, and she doesn’t mess with wires (which is a good thing in my apartment).
This Christmas Eve, I noticed a little lump on her shoulder. I took her to the vet after I noticed it larger a week later. The vet said it was bad news; an aggressive cancer that he’d seen very little success in treating. He said the best thing I could do was to watch her “Three A’s”; appetite, activity and attitude. He thought she’d make it weeks, maybe months. She made it out another six weeks or so, but then the tumor got to be too much for her, and it made it hard for her to move around, and caused her to limp.
I made the decision to end her suffering after spending some quality time with her for a few days. It was a tough decision, but I didn’t want to be selfish, keeping her around as her tumor killed her, just so I wouldn’t be lonely at home.
She would have turned 12 on April 12th. I will miss her very much.