She was 16 years old. That's 80 in cat years, according to the vet.
Matilda was a calico. She was two months old when we got her back in '89. She was the sweetest cat ever. She loved, LOVED, me and my mom, and her friend Bailey. Bailey is my mom's basketball-sized, anvil-weighted gray tabby. Matilda also loved Jake very much, my mom's terrier who died mid year last year, and Daisy, our Boston Terrier who died when I was in college. Matilda was a contortionist. She could sleep in any position in front of the fire place, and she loved sleeping on top of the couch in the sun room. She was a licker. She would just sit there and lick. She would lick your hand, your face, your hair, Bailey, whatever. Licky lickerson, that was her. According to the vet, she got cancer in her hind legs, and one of her legs had actually broken. When mom came home last saturday night, Matilda couldn't walk anymore. People who aren't in possession of wonderful pets can't understand what it's like to lose one. It really is like losing a family member. I was 11, when we got her, and me and my brother used to terrorize her relentlessly. We would put her in a paper bag and shake her around, or trap her under a clothes basket. She loved it. She would fight back, and she got really good. We should have enrolled her in some cat-fighting, maybe won some money. I'm just kidding. Matilda used to catch birds in the yard and bring them up on the porch in triumph. One of her first friends at our house was our black siamese, Samantha. They were mortal enemies by day, girlfriends by night.
Matilda was good people. It was sad to see her limping over Christmas break, and we knew the end was coming soon. We actually caught it pretty soon, and mom was with her when they put her down. Mom explained to me what happened in detail, and I managed not to cry on the phone. It's sounds stupid right? A 27 year old guy crying about a cat? But, you know...
Anyway. I love you Matilda. If we could take pets with us, I would take you. You were a classy broad.