The spring of 2003 was a low point in my life. The final straw was having to put my blue Abyssinian cat to sleep. Her cancer had progressed to the point that she was in pain. I was shattered. I thought a kitten would at least get in the way of the hole Scamp’s death had left in my life. Everywhere I looked, she was supposed to be. I decided a ruddy (red-brown with black ticking) male kitten would be best and a friend had two boys she wanted to place. She also had two girls, but I was not interested. We met at the Colorado Springs show. As I arrived at her benching cage, one of the smaller kittens began demanding to be let out and tried to thread herself through the cage bars. Sue handed me the kitten so she could get to one of the boys. The kitten in my arms was a girl and I didn’t want a girl. I told the kitten that. She didn’t care. She purred; she charmed; she did not want to go back in the cage. She fussed the whole time I held the boy. Sue got her out when she put the other kitten back, handed her to me and asked, “So how long are you going to fight this?” I decided she would do. The rest of the day, when I wasn’t holding her, she sat quietly in the cage.
Sue let me take her back to the hotel room for the night. There, I got outvoted again. I wanted to call her Mercedes, Spanish for miracles. She would not, repeat, not respond to Mercedes. Frustrated, I finally asked her, “So what am I going to call you? Merryberi?” She hopped up on the bed.
So, out numbered and out gunned, I came home with a brat-child and a joy. Merry was the companion I needed and she lived up to her name. She was full of energy and mischief. She knew precisely when to comfort and when to entertain. She saved my sanity. She graced my life for not nearly long enough. I know, somewhere in heaven, angels are laughing at her antics.
Thank you Mer, for sharing your life with me. I love you; I miss you every day.