A Calico Named Kali

 

Kali Blake

August 5, 1999 – September 6, 2017

Kali was born in my four-year-old grandson’s closet.  She had two brothers and it was evident right from the start that she was going to live up to the reputation calico cats have concerning their wild and ornery temperaments.

The moment she opened her eyes she was hissing at the family dog and bullying her brothers into submission.  My daughter-in-law named her Kali (a shortened version of Calico) because of her unique shades of black, gold, gray, white and yellow, and then she told me this feisty little kitten was mine.  But, I said no way.  I had just lost my beloved fifteen-year-old cat to kidney disease and I was still too heartbroken to even consider getting another cat.

But, it wasn’t long before Kali’s mischievous and boisterous personality won me over.  At seven weeks old, she moved into her forever home with me, and for the next eighteen years she would fearlessly rule over her kingdom and her loyal servant…me.

The first night Kali was with me, my grandson, Devin, spent the night.  We figured it would make it less traumatizing for her since she had been born and raised in his bedroom for the first seven weeks of her life.  We made a bed for ourselves on the couch and fixed a little bed for Kali beside the couch from one of Devin’s blankets.  Kali settled down for the night on the familiar smelling bed, while we slept close by in case she needed anything. 

When I awoke during the night, I was surprised (and thrilled) that this little ball of fluff had somehow made her way up on the couch.  She was curled up on my chest, snug and content. This is the way she would sleep for the rest of her life…even when she was full-grown and felt like a log laying on my chest. It wasn’t always the most comfortable sleeping arrangement for me, but Kali was the boss, so she slept where she wanted.

With Kali, sometimes called Kalimazoo or Miss Priss by me, or Psycho Cat by other family members, life was never dull.  She was the epitome of ‘curiosity killed the cat.’  There was not one inch of house, yard or neighborhood that she didn’t explore and claim as her own.  No mouse, chipmunk, snake or bird that crossed her path escaped her deadly claws. 

She hated other cats, and especially, dogs. None were welcome to cross our fence line without an attack of the ‘killer cat’.  Once, she even chased a fox out of the yard.  At barely eight pounds, Kali had no fear of facing down a hundred-pound dog, which she did on a regular basis since we had a large Akita for seven years.

My kids and grandkids were terrified of this little furry spitfire, because she pretended to be their buddy, loving up to them, letting them pet her for a moment or two, and then turning into an attack cat and digging her sharp claws into them. They were the ones who nicknamed her Psycho Cat.  My youngest son thought it was funny to get a tattoo of her being run over by his truck—something I’ve never forgiven him for.  But, everyone loved her even though they pretended they didn’t. She was the bratty furry family member whom you couldn’t help but love.

When the doorbell rang, Kali was the first one at the door.  She greeted everyone who came to the house by rubbing all over them as if she was their best friend, and then attacking them.  Friends were also terrified of her.  

But, in spite of how crazy Kali could be, none of us would trade one minute of the time we were honored to have her in our lives.  Even when she was doing something she shouldn’t do, she was still my beautiful sweet little girl. I spoiled her rotten. She was my loyal companion who was always with me for nearly two decades and now she will be in my heart forever.

Kali went to the Rainbow Bridge on September 6, 2017 after being ill for the past few months.  It was so very hard to let her go and now it’s so strange—so sad—to not have her right here beside me, or on top of me. But, I’m sure her Akita sister, Ronin, whom she hated with a passion was there to greet her with a wagging tail, and Kali returned the gesture with a loud hiss.  They will both be there waiting for me someday.

So, just for now, goodbye my sweet little Kali. I’ll miss you; I’ll grieve you; I’ll love you forever and I’ll be eternally grateful that I was chosen to be your human.

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