A few years ago, I wrote a piece called A Tale of Two Kitties, about Pogo and Candi. Today Candi died, and this is what my sister Anna wrote this morning.
Dearly Beloveds:
It is with great sadness, and not the ironic kind, that we share that Candi has been taken from us, literally. As you all know, Candi has experienced a great revival in the last couple years. Her life has been one long journey of looking for a home that fit her simple needs, accommodated her quirks, and loved her for it. It has not been a simple search for her, but in the end we think she found it.
Born the summer of 2007 in a chicken house where she and her litter mates lost feet and toes, Lani name her “Handi” (2 front paws, none in back). Jesse eagerly asked to adopt her and renamed her “Handi Cat” or “Candi” for short. But when it appeared that Jesse’s Oberlin landlord would not allow cats, and the Bradford house had allergies, the Groissers took her on, and eventually her littermate, Pogo. When I lived in the Groisser basement (2010) she chose to hang out with me - her favorite activity was waiting patiently for me to finish showering so she could dash in and lick the floor dry.
In 2011 I brought her and Pogo with me when I moved into my own house, but when a dog moved in she developed a terrible habit of peeing on couches and carpets. Plus she was also a little needy and irritating at times. In 2013 I somehow managed to convince Michael to take her, and he tolerated the peeing better than I. When Michael and Candi and Devon moved to the yurt together it turned out to be a bad fit - Candi didn’t get along well with Devon’s cats. In '21 she was carted back to the Groissers who reluctantly received her. They hung in with her for over a year as she gradually declined. Rebecca was not a Candi fan, but still put great effort into trying to address her issues with lots of vet trips, special meds and foods, and a litter box that subsumed the living room.
Finally, in 2022 as Jon faced a bone marrow transplant, we dutifully accepted her onto our porch, and gradually began to invite her into our house. You all know the stories of us nearly killing her many times as we attempted to keep her safe but not inside the house - stories that included soaking rain, starvation, fire, and survival. In the end, she lived inside during the day, and tucked into her warm house on the porch at night. We kept her litter box outside, but because of a night-visiting raccoon, her food stayed indoors. She had typical kitty routines, and she patiently trained us to adore her as she joined us for yoga, showers, dinner, and zoom meetings. Somewhere over the last couple years she had shed all her irritating qualities and replaced them with a calm self-assurance and warmth.
This morning she was not waiting quietly outside the house to be let in, as she did every other day. The blood on the porch and disturbed bedding gave us a clue that we should check the woods for evidence. Weirdly, our first expedition revealed Candi lying next to a cluster of burrows, lightly covered in sticks and leaves. Beside her lay chicken remains - those stolen from their house just the week before.
We share Candi’s story with you because we know you knew her and would appreciate how she somehow grew into being her wise accepting adorable self despite some unstable years and a lot of physical and medical challenges. We sense there is a lesson here somewhere - not that Candi was trying to teach us something because I’m not sure I believe in that - but that there is the possibility of learning something even so. We are surprised how very sad we are to lose her - we had no intention of getting attached. Gordon is coping by engaging in a deep cleaning exercise involving vacuums and washing machines, bleach, and trips to the trash enclosure. I am coping by writing about her.
Thank you for listening. I’m now going to go look up how to assassinate raccoons in their dens.
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