In October 1989, I was in my second year as a high school English teacher in an urban school in eastern Pennsylvania, near Philadelphia. We were on strike, and I was trying to make ends meet by working temp jobs. One evening, close to Halloween, a friend called to say that my cat was in her kitchen. But I don’t have a cat. I know, she said, but my husband said I can’t have another one. So I think you should take this one. I vaguely knew that my lease said no pets but often that meant except cats, so I drove over. There she was, in the kitchen, and the first thing she did was arch her back and hiss at us all. I took her home and she’s been with me every since.

What will I remember about Calypso? Her fierce independence…she had probably been out in the wild for a little while before I got her, and she had learned to survive. She was the boss. Somewhere I have a picture of her sitting on the coffee table with three dogs laying on the ground around her. All of 8 pounds soaking west, she could keep our 70 pound black lab Ivy from leaving a room. And she could purr, and wrap herself around you, and settle into your lap, the essence of love and contenment. I loved her for all of that.

She is officially named after Calypso, the witch in the Odyssey who seduced Odysseus and kept him on her island in happy bondage for seven years. But Calypso is also the name of Jacques Cousteau’s boat and since seafood was her favorite–especially shrimp–I think that’s appropriate, too.

Her last winter was a good one. We put in a wood stove and she was in heaven. And this spring, she seemed as sprightly as ever, eating as well as she ever had. She loved sitting in the office window watching the pond and listening to the water.

It’s just so hard to believe that she is gone…

See a picture of her in her younger years

A wonderful friend, my advisor at WM, sent a link to this poem. It will make you cry, but it also touched my heart. (Scroll down when you get there.)