It’s a sad morning. Ms. Wally died suddenly this morning at 5:38 a.m.

If you don’t readily remember Ms. Wally from her frequent appearances on these pages, she was a 17-1/2 year old gray cat that we rescued, along with her sister, after they had been dumped onto busy Kahekili Highway as kittens back at the beginning of 1998. She was feisty, and could be demanding. And persistent, such as when she wanted to be in your lap.

Wally got her name because we were driving into Honolulu on that Saturday morning to attend an auction, intending to bid on a set of Wallace sterling silver. Instead, we came home with the two kittens, Wally (formally Wallace) and Kili, short for Kahekili, the place of the rescue.

This morning, Wally had eaten a small serving of dry cat food from a dish on the counter during the early feeding about shortly after 5 a.m., and then, as usual, had been lobbying for some canned food. I had a can out warming up, while I went over to my computer to check the day’s news.

Meda was out of bed shortly before 5:30. Everything seemed normal.

A few minutes later, Wally let out a loud yowl. It wasn’t the first time, but this time was different. The yowl extended. I couldn’t see what was going on, but I could see Meda’s frantic reaction. I leapt out of my chair and across the room to the kitchen, where Wally had collapsed on her side, on the floor in front of the refrigerator, and was scrambling feebly to get up. Her mouth was open, as if panting, struggling for breath.

I think she had a heart attack, although it could just as easily have been a stroke.

I thought she was gone almost immediately, but then she struggled again and almost got upright into a sphinx position, looking forward, still struggling for breath.

I had grabbed a kitchen towel to keep her warm.

From there, the end was quick, although the minutes seemed to take many hours to pass.

As regular readers know, Wally had been on a decline for two years, perhaps a little more. She lost her appetite, went through a couple of rounds of pills to enhance her appetite, steadily lost weight ever so slowly, and rounds of tests failed to identify the cause. I suspected that she had a cancer that couldn’t be located, and she was also suffering from declining kidney function. For at least a year, we’ve considered her in hospice care. Then recently it became obvious that she had a growing sore, or tumor, on her lip, making her face look lopsided and causing some additional difficulty eating. In recent photos, I chose an angle that avoided showing it directly.

She made her last trip to the vet on Sunday, a quick check to see if there was some way to make her more comfortable, and left with an appointment to return in a couple of weeks.

Now that won’t be necessary.

The good thing is that, despite all of her various issues, she lived well until the end. No extended hospital stay. No extraordinary measures. And she died at home, with us.

The sisters, Kili and Wally, have been a pair since their rescue at the beginning of 1998. Now the family will feel lopsided, with a void where Wally would have been.

Already her absence is obvious. This was the spot where she ate on the kitchen counter. I would warm up opened cans of cat food by setting them in the steam of the coffee maker. Then I would put her dish on that coffee cup so that she didn’t have to lean down so far to eat. She was the only cat with special permission to eat on the counter. And now the space is empty. Or perhaps, more accurately, it’s full of her memory.

Her regular spot on the bed at night may be briefly empty, but I think another cat will quickly move into that favored spot.

Goodbye, Ms. Wally.

Now there are five: Kili, Duke, Toby, Annie, and Romeo.

And here’s a photo of Ms. Wally taken last Friday, posing with Romeo.

And for old times, Ms. Wally in 1999, when she was just over a year old.

Also see: “Long Live Ms. Wally!“