Ellie – such a demur name.  That cat was anything but – and she let you know.  After about seven years of living with Walt, Ellie finally accepted me as a member of the household.  She let me know when it was her scheduled feeding time, expressed her  need to go out – and in – and out – and in.  She even came to me for affection (or was it warmth?) during the winter. 

She was a talker – you could have a conversation with her and she held up her end with meows, chirps, and the frequent “meal now!” command.

Ellie was quick with a hiss if you rubbed her the wrong way, but she was somewhat more judicious with the use of her claws.  Still, houseguests were warned as a first order of business – “Don’t try to make friends with the cat”.  The Pupster learned this as well, and they had settled into an uneasy truce.

Her demeanor notwithstanding, we admired her feisty ways.  She was a cat’s cat.  At 13 years, she still climbed into odd places, hurtled across the yard, clambered up tree trunks, and cornered raccoons.  She fiercely defended her turf against intruders.  I imagine she was doing just that when she clashed with a coyote late one night on our front lawn.  Obviously she had no idea what she was up against.  Her street smarts and spunk did not serve her that night.

We miss our little outspoken companion.  She had a good life.

Suzi Beaumont, December 08