Goodbye, Sweet Georgia Ann


Goodbye, our sweet little Georgia Ann.  We loved you for a million reasons, one of which being that you didn’t hate me for making your thighs look fat in this picture.  But you greeted us everyday when we would come home, be it an hour or a weekend.  You lived up to your Chantilly-Tiffany breed by always chirping at us like a bird and displaying your beautiful undercoat.  So weird.  But so loving.  Even if you were half alley cat too.  We loved you more than any human should love an animal. But you loved us back just as hard.  And that’s what makes a goodbye so incredibly tough.

The lake house was something you loved.  Our Georgia would roam around hunting bugs, birds, grass to eat and anything else interesting.  Don’t you dare leave out some biscuits in a Ziplock bag.  That was ending up with holes and nibbles. Gelato?  Forget it.  Yogurt is hers.  Not yours.  She loved human food and she got scraps just like she asked for.

IMG_4346Her meow is something  I miss dearly.  Her presence is palpably missed every time I walk up the steps to the camp house.  I struggle not to yell, “GEORGIA ANN!” as I did so many times every night waiting for you to wander back home.  But now, you never answer.  You don’t bound over the tall grass we couldn’t cut because of the rain.  You don’t rub your face on my legs and purr loudly when you finally make it over to my calls.  You aren’t here.  And we are having a really hard time with that.  Come home, Georgia. Come back.

I still go to the camp house.  I still yell for you to come home.  I still see dark figures in the distance and hope you’ve escaped a loving captivity of neighbors who thought you were a stray.  I still hope.  I still wait.  And I’m not alone in that.  We both have this hesitation in our breath each time we turn that corner to Leisure Lane wondering if we’ll see your bright eyes wondering where we’ve been.  Be it that hour or that weekend.  Or now, all these weeks.  We still carry that hope.

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