Miss Gretchen wandered into our yard six years ago. At first I thought she was a baby opossum, the way she perched on the wall of the trough steadfastly watching our Squeeky Boy in admiration as he moved softly and swiftly away from her through the tall grass. She was a beautiful girl with medium length hair and a coat of silk, mostly gray with a calico assortment of colors running through her fur, and she was the dearest and sweetest of creatures, always running to greet me -- even in the middle of the night when on the way to the bathroom when I didn't especially need company.

I, of course, fed her as a stray six years ago, and she returned time and again. This went on for about a month, afternoon and evening visitations, sometimes hiding under a shed, but she was surprisingly fearless, as she frequently made herself comfortable and visible. Then one day she disappeared. I'd watch for her every day and evening from the kitchen window, but there was no sign of her for about two weeks. Then one evening at twilight, there she was in our back yard, leaping high into the air trying to catch a moth, twisting with such youth and agility that she looked like she was dancing. It was a picture to behold with the setting sun behind her, and one which I will hold in my mind and heart forever. She was such a tiny girl at that time. It was my intention to rescue her. I did so not long afterward, and she adjusted immediately to her new life. On taking her to the vet for her first checkup I found that she had Feline Leukemia. The vet asked the usual question: "Do you want me to put her to sleep?" I hung up, sobbed, then called her back and said, I cannot do that; please give her "the works -- everything she needs, we will give her life for as long as she wants to live." This morning, however, Gretchen made her decision to leave us. It wasn't the leukemia that got her. Her appetite diminished somewhat, her habits had changed, and her breathing was labored -- all this within a week or less. She had a tumor and water in her lungs and little capacity for breathing. So I told her how much I love her and always will, and I thanked her for finding us and bringing us such joy. My final words to her were as they are with all my kitties, and we still have five: "Be sure to follow me home when this is over because I love you.

She will remain at the clinic until Monday so we have an opportunity to prepare her grave site. I thought about cremation, but I always would regret not having her here with us, and it's important that she be with her other brothers and sisters whose spirits are among us.

As always, my heart aches. God, I will miss her so much.