Back in December it became apparent that our beloved cat, Malcolm, wasn't feeling well.  Truth is, she (yes, she) hadn't been feeling well for a while, but I don't think either of us wanted to really face the fact that she just wasn't herself.  She was still eating well, in fact it was one of her favorite things to do.  I never have met a cat before who would purr while she ate... it really was endearing.  Anyway, it never appeared that she was suffering in any way, but she just wasn't herself.  She was tired and slower than usual, but it was apparent that there was a growth under her first nipple and it was getting bigger.  I had noticed it, we both had and I had been watching it for a while and in the back of my mind I knew what it was.  I didn't research it.  I never Googled it.  I didn't want confirmation of what I knew in my heart was happening here... after all, she still seemed happy and she was eating.  But on the morning of December 23rd, when blood began to seep from her nipple, I knew I had to take her to the vet.  He confirmed all my worst fears, Malcolm had breast cancer.  Considering her advanced age, the size of the tumor and all the other risk involved, he advised me to take her home, enjoy her over Christmas and then bring her back.  Heart broken.  How on earth was I going to tell Rob?  Malcolm was his cat before she became our cat and he was absolutely crazy for her... we both are.  Needless to say, it was a horrible Christmas holiday for us, I say with Mal on my lap just about the entire weekend, held her and hugged her and kissed her and smelled her, because I knew our time was limited.  I could feel my heart breaking and I was hoping she would understand what we had to do for her.  We loved her so much and we would never let her suffer.  So, on December 27th, it started out like any other day, our little morning rituals... special moments that just can't be put into words.  And then we took the longest drive in my life.  I can't even go into what happen at the vets, but Robert, Malcolm and I, we are family and losing her was probably one of the most painful things I have ever been through... there just aren't any words to describe.  But we were all connected and we all made a sound that was painfully clear.  I still look for her.  I miss her so much it actually hurts in a deep place.  

Malcolm is a Scottish or Gaelic name, meaning follower or devotee of the dove and the dove is usually Saint Columa.  And it was the name of the prince of Scotland who became king after Macbeth murdered his father.

Our Malcolm was dove grey, soft as a bunny, had the attitude of a diva and was a prince (or rather princess) among cats.  We were fortunate to be her pet parents... honored really.  She was a very fine cat indeed.