My poor old siamese girl died. She absolutely deserves this little note here: she's been with me for a quarter of my life, and was a witness (not necessarily a quiet one, as the siamese are quite "talkative") of many important changes and transitions.

We rescued her from the outside. An adult cat of rather indeterminate age, she's been pretty evidently without a home, having to fend for herself, among seemingly tumultuous circumstances. As evidenced by skinny looks. And as was later found, somewhat paranoid stance about food – she wanted me to "stand guard" as she was eating; also managing her feeding schedule so that she wouldn't get too fat was bit of a headache. A suspicious lump in her tail, as if poorly healed fracture. And the persistent, untreatable cough with only 70% lung capacity left, most likely an effect of an old pneumonia.

But however tough her first phase of life could have been, she certainly did not have reasons to complain after we took her. And turned out to be a friendly, gentle cat (even if a bit clumsy), seeking contact with people, sitting on them eagerly in most strange ways. Including her "signature position", with her front paws resting on the person, while her rear paws would be on the bed or armchair. Possibly with the belly hanging in the air. She was totally non-aggressive too, never scratched or bitten anyone. And much later, accepted a little kitten (another rescue) with just some hissing and grumbling initially – but after a cautious month-long introduction stage, they became like best friends ever, sleeping and playing together despite enormous age difference.

As much as I'm sad that she died, it happened at the right time. We managed to keep her with us, not without some serious medical treatment, into her old age. But she did not become senile and run-down. Her last week-and-a-half were evidently worse than normal (and for me, quite a clear indication what's going to happen), but she was able to walk around and take care of her needs literally until her last few minutes. Which then she spent in my hands, being taken quickly by what seemed to be some sort of sudden cardiovascular failure. Given how much she was afraid of being in a car, and of the medical settings, it's much better that it happened this way, than if we had to transport her all the way to the veterinary clinic in the neighboring city in order to euthanize her. She died surrounded with friends, not only at home but practically in her favorite spot.

She was buried in an abandoned garden, among freshly-sprouted springtime green. No more than three meters from the place where she was first found. So it has all taken full circle, and ended where it began.