Our little black cat Manna finally reached the point where she was not having a good life anymore. We had to fulfill our last responsibility to her, no matter how much it hurt us, and she is gone now. She was my little girl and I am in a lot of pain right now.
Eighteen years ago, right before Halloween, a stray cat had a litter of kittens. One little kitten was black and a neighbor worried about what might happen to a black kitten at Halloween. So he advertised to find a home for her, and we were fortunate enough to answer the ad.
Most of Manna’s youth was spent with her adoptive mom - not me, but our sweet gray cat Princess. Princess loved Manna like her very own and even when Manna was a big girl, Princess would bath and groom her like she was still a kitten.
At 18, Manna was the last of her generation. During much of the time that we had her, we were a 5-cat family that included Princess and Manna, plus our beloved Snowball, quiet Blackstar, and a beautiful but not-too-bright calico cat named Angel.
Angel and Manna were just a week apart in age and for awhile they got along like sisters. They would play together and snuggle up with each other for naps, but as they grew up Manna developed true cat aloofness and didn’t have much use for Angel. Princess was the only cat that Manna really cared about.
I never had much success photographing Manna. Her black coat always made her features disappear, with just those green eyes showing. But Manna was with us through so much; she was part of our lives during the hard years working on the house on Diamond Street, and the years we lived in the Carriage House. She was with me when Randy traveled to Israel and when he worked in Arizona. She shared our lives through so many changes.
She was a quite little girl, not making much fuss over anything. She did a rapid little chatter when she stalked flies, almost like she was trying to call them to her, but it never worked. As she grew older her main activity was sleeping. Our philosophy was that at her age, she could do whatever she liked. We easily accepted the fact that she basically lived on the bed, with just a few trips down for food and litter. And somethings she didn't even need to get down for food. She was a skilled people-trainer and eventually was able to teach us to give her treats on the bed. Feeding Mana was a tricky business; being a diva, she liked to keep her girlish figure and like many divas, she did it by being bulemic. If she ate very much, she would just throw up. Since she lived on the bed, that created issues. We learned to give her just a few pieces of food or treat, several times a day. It got to the point that when we went into the bedroom for anything, we automatically gave her a few pieces of food. Didn't even have to think about it, just automatically did it.
Her affection for the bed made her transition to RVing very easy. The only real difference was that we occasionally need to raise the bed to get to the underneath storage. Manna didn't mind; in fact, she seemed to like it. She just rode the bed up and down, like an amusement park ride.
Manna didn't even get off the bed in the morning when I made it. She was amazingly skilled at stepping around whatever area I was working on. I kidded her about being in the way but the truth is she never was.
For several years Manna slept with me at night. Not snuggled up next to me, of course - that would not be becoming to a diva. Instead she slept on the bed just above my pillow. Which means I scooted down on the bed, to be sure she had enough room. People who don't live with cats don't understand, but people who do will understand this perfectly.
In spite of her aloofness, Manna held the record as the best purr-er ever. Whenever I scooped her up, even if she didn't want to be held, she would automatically purr loud and steady. One of my favorite things in the world is that warm purr against my ear.
During our 18 years with Manna we developed routines and habits around her that we were barely aware of. Feeding her treats, making the bed around her, leaving room for her above my pillow - what will it cost my heart to stop doing these things? How long will it hurt, when I start to do them and then remember there is no longer a reason? She was our smallest cat, just a tiny, aloof kitty, and I will never stop missing her.
I wish I could turn back time.
