On a warm spring day in 1990 a lady came into our lives. Born behind a bar in Louisiana and suffering from a septal heart defect a palm sized kitten allowed us to take her in care and because she was herself decided that she could easily bend us to her needs. Shiloh as never a big cat, the most she ever weighed was four pounds, and most of that was heart. If you were stressed she knew just how to apply purr therapy and if you were bad, discipline was sure to follow. Even the humans were subject to her decisions and she never played favorites.
If there is such a thing as continuity of life our tiny warrior queen has to have been an Irish cop patrolling the streets of Old New York. She knew what was right and didn't hesitate to tell you when you didn't abide by her code of conduct. She was an Iron Lady in a cat's coat.
When a new pet came into our house it was Shiloh who would take them in charge, show them where the litter box was located, decide where they would eat and remind them that even though she was the smallest of cats our house was her house and that her rules were to be followed. Period.
When we brought dogs into the family Shiloh would sigh, shrug and take on the task of training them and molding them into the Shiloh way of household management. Except for litter box training of the dogs she was always successful and was a Lilliputian queen in a Brodbignian house.
A few days ago she decided that 23 years was sufficient and it was time to cross the Rainbow Bridge. She was our companion and friend and we miss her terribly.
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