by Susan Genadry
(Santa Barbara, Ca. USA)

You showed up in our backyard one sunny July day in 1999. You rubbed against my husband's leg and looked up and meowed at him, as if to say, "I'm yours. Do with me what you want."

We gave her some tuna and she came back every day for awhile, until she decided she wanted to become an official member of our family and moved in.

When we took her to the vet to make sure she was okay and to have her spayed, the girl at the reception area said, "She will change your life." Not being cat people and only having had dogs, we didn't then understand how right she would be.

"Little B" attached herself to my husband, always being either on his lap or going for walks in the garden together. They were never apart. I loved her so very much, also, and was honored when she would grace my lap with her presence. The fact that this didn't happen often made it all the more special to me.

When Bella lost her appetite last month, we took her to the vet and after running tests and x-rays, we found out she had advanced lung cancer. She had never acted at all sick. We could not possibly have known anything was wrong.

After telling the vet we would do anything to save her, at any cost, and being told nothing could be done, we took her home. We couldn't get her to eat, so called a mobile vet who gave her fluids, a shot of something that included a steroid and appetite pills. She felt so good that she was able to eat her favorite NY Cheesecake and jumped on the bed that night, purring and cuddling. We knew it was her way of saying "Good-Bye."

The next day, she couldn't eat and the appetite pills weren't working. It killed us to see Bella hungry yet not being able to eat. We decided not to force feed her. That was not the way our beloved Bella was going to spend the final days of her life.

We made the appointment to take her to the vet the following morning. We spent the final hours holding her, kissing her and telling her how much we love her.

I was with her as she fell asleep, talking to her and singing her a song I had written for her many years ago, as I stroked her beautiful, soft head.

The girl at the vet's office on that day 13 years ago was right. Bella changed our lives and we will never be the same.

We love you, Bebe.

We will all be together again one day.