She was just acknowledging the power of the avatars of the war god.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Thanks for the great stories, and let those wonderful memories of her keep her close to you.
That is so perfect. It would take a war god to make her back off.
Wonderful stories, she was obviously a very special kitty and much loved. I am so sorry flor your loss, but thank you for being strong for her.
Your written tribute to her is sassy, respectful, and zero bullshit.
Exactly what I’m sure she would have asked for.
Good job. It isn’t her fault at all that I’m a little misty right now.
Thanks for sharing those stories, phouka. I’m so sorry for your loss.
Thanks, phouka. Sorry for your loss.
I don’t like cats - I’m allergic, and they are far too pointy for me. But I have two dogs, and I don’t think I will ever be able to thank them enough for being my friend.
Man, that is one of the nicest obits I have ever read. What a wonderful cat, and how lucky you were that she chose you to be her human pet.
So sorry to hear of your loss. From another with a furry tortie overlord.
Furry tortie overlord. Heh. The friend Raven nearly suffocated always referred to her as The High Leader and requested her approval on all things. 
Thanks, guys. It helps enormously to be able to tell these stories and share my memories of Raven. I keep hearing little sounds or seeing movement at the edge of my field of vision that my brain labels as “cat: cruising” or “cat: finding trouble”, and the mental reconfiguration of “what? cat? Raven? Wait, no, can’t be Raven. Raven’s gone . . . [sub]kitty died[/sub]. . . sniffle. . . . kitty . . . WWWAAAAAAAAAAH!” is still taking way too long to go through.
I am obsessing about doing things for her. I’ve already set up a drop off with a nearby rescue organization to donate her leftover sub-q fluids, meds, food, and supplies. I picked out a box for her ashes. I’ve scanned photos into my FB account.
And to top it off, the puppy my mom got the day before Christmas, because she figured I would need serious puppy therapy when Raven died (and boy howdy, was she right), ate a cigarette butt this morning. Had to take her to the vet to get her stomach pumped and charcoal administered. She’s staying for the day, and now I’m lonely. sigh
if you’ll excuse me, I have something in my eye. sniff
phouka, we had to put my oldest guy down just last night, and I thought of you and Raven this morning. I know she’s kicking ass and taking names in Valhalla, while my crabby little dude looks on with grudging admiration from a spot by the hearth. We were lucky to have them.
One thing I did when my little Meep(5 year old Russian Blue, had lymphoma, had to put her to sleep five years ago and I still miss her terribly) died was to get a journal and just start writing down everything I remembered about her–all her little quirks, the cute things she did, memories about times we had together…just all the little silly things that I was afraid I might not remember forever. It’s also got all the kind cards that our vet and friends and her cancer doctor sent after she left us. I don’t read it very often because it makes me cry, but it’s nice to know it’s there. Not that I’ll ever forget her, but sometimes the details fade over the years.
Thanks, HoD
winterhawk11, that’s an excellent idea. I will start a journal of Raven stories. And, because I can, here are a couple more Raven stories:
At the end of my junior year of college, I took Raven home with me for the summer. A friend had taken her one surviving kitten, so weaning was rather sudden for her. Apparently, she only ever let the kitten suckle from one nipple. Consequently, for the next two weeks, she had one swollen teat on her left side, wobbling and swinging wherever she went. My mom had a mastectomy that spring for ductile carcinoma in situ and was also getting used to be off-balance. They often commiserated and cuddled.
That same summer, we re-wallpapered the kitchen. First thing we had to do was measure the entire kitchen, which necessitated pulling out the refrigerator, which was between a set of cabinets and a built-in desk. There was a really good TV show on, so we worked during the commercials. The cat wandered in and explored, doing her sonar ping meow, while we were watching the show, and I didn’t think anything of it. Then, brother went to push the refrigerator back into place. Mom and I heard: “Mfff, grunt . . . mfff, grunt . . . mfff, *gr-ROWR! Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!” We raced in and saw brother walking the fridge back as fast as he could, and Raven clawing her way over the side of the desk to escape. She took off in a black streak was refused to come downstairs until the next day. She never did trust the fridge again.
The one time I saw her completely helpless was shortly before she had her kittens. She was extremely pregnant, curled up on the same stool she’d taken when she’d first appeared, and one of my roomie’s cats was batting at her tail. Raven hissed at the other cat, but the cat took no hint. Finally, sick of it, Raven jumped down and smacked the other cat. Other cat took off between the legs of the stool, Raven jumped over the crossbar, and . . . she was stuck. She hadn’t been able to clear it. The cross bar was just behind her front legs, too high up for her to back up, and she was too pregnant to jump over it. Horrified and giggling, I rescued her. She was ticked. As soon as I put her down, she went for the other cat and chased it upstairs into a corner and pounded on it for a couple of minutes before I intervened.
Raven could put up with me doing something other than paying all of my attention to her, if she was at least included. So, if I were reading, I knew to leave enough space for her to curl up next to whatever I was reading - with at least an inch where she could overlap it, on top. I learned to turn pages out from under her without disrupting her or bending the pages too badly. She would zone out and start to flick her tail over the book. In order to read, I would capture her tail between thumb and forefinger, pull it over to the side, and then let her leisurely pull it out of my grip. If I held it hard enough to prevent escape, she got mad. If I let it go too quickly, she’d thump the page with her tail. We practiced until it was a rhythm of flick/catch/hold/puuuuuullllll/flick/catch/hold/puuuuulllll of about four seconds per round. We’d do it for hours while I read.
Raven was a very skittish cat at first, but she really wanted affection. At first, all I could do was hold out a hand and let her strop against it, purring. She would rub her face against my knuckles, but I couldn’t hold my hands or arms in a way that looked like I might try to catch her. After a couple of days, she let me pick her up briefly, to set her somewhere or move her out of trouble. After a week, I could pick her up and hold her briefly, if I did so without interfering with her legs and let her go as soon as she wiggled. She never would let me rub her tummy. Make a move in that direction, and you got the five pointy ends dug into your hand. But, there was an evening, several months after she adopted me, that I was falling asleep on my side, and Raven was curled up, purring, next to me. She was at that stage where the next position would be a full stretch. So, I opened my hand, and she put her head in the palm of my hand, where I cradled it as she slept. I absolutely would not move until she did, and that was not for a good half hour. I knew at that point that I had earned her trust. There are few other accomplishments I am that proud of.
Aww…what a cool kitty she was. Thanks for sharing your stories with us.