by Cynthia Wyant
Stasha was a little lady from the day I adopted her at a local animal shelter. She was two years old as she sat in her cage and looked at me that day as if to say "Well, here I am." She was a beautiful, mixed-Persian cat, and I never regretted taking her home with me. She was my confidant, my silent partner, my companion, and my true friend. Her life on Earth ended October 3, 2002. Her 18-year-old body was riddled with cancer. She was almost totally blind, and mostly deaf, but she was beautiful to me. I was in the room with her when a compassionate vet ended her suffering. He listened for heart sounds, then looked at me and said "She's gone". He was technically right, but emotionally wrong - - Stasha will never be gone from my heart.