Halo

Ragdoll cats are supposed to be one of the more docile feline breeds around. They are named Ragdoll, in part, because of the way they go limp in your arms when you pick them up. Limp like a child's ragdoll.

And that's what we were looking for when we got Halo.

We'd had a Ragdoll before. Years ago, Dolittle gave us infinite hours of love, joy and amusement. When Dolittle was a kitten, she actually jumped up on the bed and slept on the top of Kim's head. Repeatedly. That's what Ragdolls do.

So when Dolittle died, we debated whether or not we wanted another cat. It wasn't a decision we made lightly. I was already 64 years old – Kim was 55 – and we were pretty sure we didn't want any future pets to outlive us. But we took a chance and picked up Halo from the same Ragdoll cattery in Salisbury where we got Dolittle.

She was extremely cute, as kittens are. She was a Blue Mitted Ragdoll and she had those signature blue eyes, but she also had a white blaze on her forehead and nose. That was all it took and we brought her home.

We even named her Halo, not only because she looked kind of cherubic, but we also looked forward to her angelic Ragdoll personality to kick in.

And we waited. And waited. And waited.

Turns out, Halo never read the Ragdoll manual. While most Ragdolls by trait are laid back, apparently about 10 percent or so are not. They exhibit contrary or antisocial behavior.

Lucky us. We got the 10 percent.

Halo was OK with us, but probably moreso with me than with Kim. Since I was retired, I was the one who was home most of the time. She'd follow me around the house, let me stroke her cotton-like fur, fuss when she needed her litter box cleaned. Kim was just a visitor who showed up to put kibbles in the food dish and tell her how pretty she was.

In truth, she was tolerant of Kim, often times swiping at her feet or complaining when Kim would pick her up to hold her. We actually timed Halo – you could hold her for exactly 30 seconds before she would squirm to be put back down on the floor. She would not sit on your lap or by your side. If she hopped on the bed, she slept by your feet, not on your head.

She would squaw at visitors. She would show them her claws as if they were switchblades. She would tell them where to go. She was, as Kim said, opinionated.

And yet...

As the years passed, we grew accustomed to her behavior, taking solace in the fact that nobody else likely would put up with her, and that she was lucky to have a home with us.

But a few months ago, she was diagnosed with arthritis even though she was just nine years old. She started peeing outside the litter box because it was difficult for her to step in. Visits to the veterinarian temporarily alleviated some of her issues, but they weren't going to go away. She would require more visits.

Today her bloodwork revealed 100 percent renal failure and her dramatic weight loss – from 15 pounds to just 6 in a matter of months – suggested possible lymphoma as well. Even her vet, Dr. Salli Steward – who last saw Halo in May – was taken aback by her rapid slide. There was no turning back.

So we made the difficult decision that nearly every responsible pet owner makes sooner or later, because, you know, nothing lasts forever.

Dr. Steward hooked up the IV catheterization port. We laid her down and I put the palm of my hand over Halo's head – over her blaze – which she always liked. It was her safe spot and I could always feel her pushing back in appreciation, just as she did this one last time. Then Dr. Steward introduced the Euthasol and Halo peacefully slipped into another dimension.

Halo was lucky to have us?

She was feisty. She was loyal. She was beautiful. We were lucky to have Halo.