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 When I first laid eyes on you, you were lying in a box looking so tiny and helpless; I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Then you were handed to me, and I burst into tears - at that moment I knew you were coming home with me. After a trip to the vet where we found out you weighed less than a pound, Daddy and I took you home and introduced you to your new brothers and sisters. It was so cute to watch them take turns sniffing you, and jumping back when you moved a bit; we couldn't believe they were actually afraid of you.    When we put you on the floor, you tried to stumble around on the carpet but you couldn't walk very well. Your big brothers and sisters got bored with you and went off to do other things. But it wasn't long before Willow came back for another sniff, and from then on, you became her baby. She kept you clean, and disciplined you when she thought it necessary. The first time we saw her pick you up in her mouth, we thought she was going to eat you! We weren't aware that mother cats carried their kittens that way. And even when you got bigger, Willow still tried to carry you around in her mouth, and when you got too big, she'd grab you by the scruff of the neck and drag you around. She was very protective of you; when Oz, Voodoo or Kissa got too rough with you, Willow would let them know that kind of behaviour wasn't acceptable. Even as you got older, she always made sure your face and ears were clean, and slept with her paw around you. It was so sweet.      When you were about four months old, you started breathing differently, so we took you back to the vet, who told us you had asthma. After a course of medication, your breathing improved, and all went well for a few months. Then you started sneezing out this horrible stuff and your eyes started watering, so again we took you to the vet. I was also concerned because I had never heard you meow and you didn't seem to be gaining any weight. The vet ran lots of tests, which came back positive - you had Panleukopenia - Feline Distemper. Your daddy and I were devastated! The vet told us your mother had probably passed it on to you, but that you were a fighter and might be able to beat it. He put you on something called "The Missing Link", which you hated at first but came to love. You would come running as soon as you heard that pouch open. About a month later, we took you back to the vet for more tests - we were over-joyed - you had beaten the Panleukopenia! There was not a trace to be found! The vet had told us that you had a deformity in your nasal cavity, and that you would always be a "snotty" cat, and would need your nose wiped a lot, but we didn't care - you were healthy (or so we thought). Zoë, I would give anything to have your sweet little nose here to wipe again baby, but you're in a better place now, and where you are, your nose doesn't run anymore and you're healthy again.  
Eventually, you became close friends with Voodoo, and the two of you had great fun chasing each other up and down the hall. You were quite the little escape artist - we really had to watch when we went out that you didn't escape into the hall. Somehow, we never seemed to be fast enough. Nine times out of ten, we'd go to lock the door, look down the hall, and there you'd be, right at the other end! And we hadn't even known you'd gotten out; you were so fast. And getting you back in was hard work. We'd start walking toward you, and when we were just about to pick you up, you'd run right past us. You enjoyed this little game, although we sometimes didn't. Daddy and I remember this cute little thing you used to do. You would climb on our side at night, and start kneading, but you didn't knead the way most cats do. You always had one paw in front of the other - we called it "the Zoë two-step". You'd start off slow, then increase your speed and then slow down again. Eventually you'd lie down, but it wouldn't be long till you decided you'd rather be under the covers. That didn't last long either though, and you were up again and off to play. You couldn't be spayed when you should have been because you didn't weigh enough. The vet told us you had to weigh five pounds - he wanted to make sure you were good and healthy before surgery. Eventually, you went into heat, and the vet told us to call when it was over. I felt so sorry for you; you seemed so miserable, although I did like the fact that you were very cuddly; something you had never been fond of before. Daddy and I had never gone through this before, since all our other cats had been spayed or neutered as soon as possible. Your heat finished, and we made the appointment to have you spayed the following week. I took you in the day before, kissed you goodbye, and told you everything would be okay and I would see you the next day. Daddy decided not to go into work the day of your surgery, and I'm glad he didn't, and believe God made him stay home that day. We were running around doing some errands; I had gone into a store, and daddy called home to check messages. When I came back to the car, he told me there was a message from the vet, and he sounded upset. I called his office and was immediately put through to him. He told me you had begun your journey to the Rainbow Bridge. I couldn't believe it! I burst into tears and couldn't stop. I cried for days, until there were no more tears left. You were healthy; it was supposed to be a routine spay, how could this have happened? Daddy and I drove right to the veterinary clinic and were taken into the vet's office. He told us that when he opened you up to do the surgery, he found a mass of fluid in your chest cavity, and he knew there were going to be problems, and that you were going to have to be watched very carefully. He also noticed a thickening of the soft palette. After the surgery while you were in recovery, there were two vet techs sitting with you to make sure everything was okay. All of a sudden, you stopped breathing, then quickly started again. One of the vet techs went and got the vet, while the other one stayed with you. When the vet got to the room, he told us you sat up for a few seconds, then just stopped breathing. You had begun your journey, and everyone who was working that day was in the room with you; you were very special to everyone Zoë. I will never forgive myself for not being there when you began your journey to the Rainbow Bridge, but you were surrounded by people who loved you, and had done everything they possibly could to save you, but it wasn't meant to be. The vet told us that you were very sick with liver cancer, and would have been gone in a few weeks. He told us that it was best that you left us the way you did - groggy from the anasthetic, because if you had been at home, it would have been horrible for you. He told us that he was worried before surgery that he was going to have to call and tell us we had a decision to make, but that you made the decision for us, and spared us that agony. We will never forget you. We loved you then, we love you now, and we will love you always. We find comfort in the knowledge that you are no longer in pain, but healthy again, and although our hearts still ache and we miss you more than words can say, we hold fast to your memory until that wonderful day when we are re-united at the Rainbow Bridge. 
 
 
 
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