Fondly Remembered

Timothy, Jasmine and Smokey - Gone but not forgotten

Timothy was the first cat Tom and I had as a couple. We were still newlyweds and he was about 8 weeks old when we adopted him from the Charleston, SC humane society.
Mellow, gentle, he even accepted the arrival of Colleen stoically, suffering through her toddler years, when she would chase him through the house, calling, "Timmm! Timmm! or "Keeeee!" to him.
The only thing Tim really hated was dogs - all dogs - and would even attack them if given the chance. Especially if they were small dogs.
On July 19, 1990, when he was nearly 19 years old, he began having a series of epileptic-like seizures. Nothing could be done for him and the seizures were increasing in severity. I knew he was suffering, so at 10 PM his vet met us at her clinic and eased him out of life.

My family got Smokey from the county humane society in October of 1990, when he was about a year old. He was listed as a "Collie-type mixed breed". From his coloring, we thought he might be part Australian Shepherd, but there was a man on my street who was sure Smokey was part wolf!
Smokey was the sweetest dog I've ever known. From the moment we brought him home, he charmed everyone he met with his friendly disposition and his eagerness to please.
As big as he was, he was basically a house dog. Near his "pack" was where it seemed he was happiest, so we didn't have the heart to keep him outside.
He left us on January 6, 2003, after nearly a year of battling liver disease and arthritic hips.
I don't think I'll ever know another dog as good as Smokey was, and I will never forget him.

Jasmine was born in the cab of a pick up truck at my brother in law's house, the kitten of a reddish pointed mother and an unknown father. Tom and I took her home when she was about 7-8 weeks old and named her after the princess in Disney's Aladdin - a name she took too literally.
Despite her lowly, barn kitten beginnings, she carried herself with regal bearing and I think had poor Smokey convinced she was pure Siamese and had been born in a palace on a satin pillow.
Feisty, arrogant, often exasperating, she ruled us all with a velvet paw.
I'll never really know what caused her death at only 6 years old. I only know it happened far too fast and far too soon. The vet thought it was some sort of severe auto-immune response to something, but whatever it was, it moved with lightning speed. On 9/11 the vet said she was the picture of health, and on 9/20, despite 8 1/2 days of trying to make her well, she died in my arms on the way to the veterinarian.

"I could have missed the pain, but I'd have had to miss the dance"
--Garth Brooks