Chloe-boe, you were the best
It’s fundamentally crappy to begin this site with an ending, but here we are. Last night marked the end of the life of Chloe, our beloved tabby cat, who got herself killed out on the street in front of our house. Of the four cats in our house, Chloe was regarded as the queen of the household, and the peacemaker, the cat that tied all the other cats together. Chloe got along with everybody. She was a talkative, social tabby. She was not a lap cat, but was always around to stop by and say hello and have a quick pet. Chloe loved her kitchen handouts. She got into the habit of sitting in one of the dining chairs during mealtimes, interested in a little handout. We would put some grilled salmon or roast chicken on a napkin or plate on the table, and she would eat it daintily. She was only allowed to put her front paws on the table. She had excellent table manners, in my opinion.
Chloe was the oldest of our four cats - probably 7 or 8 years old - but she retained a playful and inquisitive nature throughout her lifetime. She would often play with Alex, our orange tabby. She was a peaceful cat and stayed out of conflict with the other cats in the household.
Last night Michelle went outside to go to a friend’s house to find Chloe broken on the street in front of our house. Chloe was in the habit of crossing the street to hunt on the weedy bank across the street. I had my concerns about her getting hit, but I had balanced that with the knowledge that she loved the freedom of going outside to explore. Last night, her luck ran out. Kyle and I went out to the street and carefully picked up her broken body, wrapped her in a towel, and brought her inside. She died in my arms and I buried her in the back yard. I loved Chloe, and shed sad tears over her passing. I think she loved us as well. She was a peaceful and affectionate being, and she will be dearly missed in our household. God bless you, Chloe.
