And then there was Musetta....

Again, from The Feline Mystique (St. Martin's, 2002):

In early March, we go to Texas and close-dance at the Broken Spoke. We eat barbecue, and buy cowboy boots. (THat's not why we went, but as I admire my ostrich-clad feet, I must say it was a high point.) I have begun to feel like myself again. One awful moment: After the long flight, as the cab nears our building, I hear it in my head as loudly as if he were saying it, Jon's voice exulting, "We're going to see a kitty!" just like he used to whenever we returned from a trip. (I hope he forgives me for revealing this.) My heart leaped in anticipation. Only he's not saying that, and we won't, ever again. I've lost my kitty. But then we go indoors, and I think I'll be okay.

On May 19, we adopt Musetta, a longhaired black-and-white female with an off-center star on her nose and round eyes like owl's. She wasn't the only kitten at the Animal Rescue League that day, and we told each other that we didn't need to choose any yet. But then she reached out for us, little white mitten extended to draw our fingers close, and our hearts were hooked as well. She's got the loudest voice I've ever heard in a kitten, and when she peeps for attention she stares straight at you to make sure she's getting it. Just seven weeks old, she's not the most coordinated bundle of fur on the planet, and when she hops down the hallway she looks for all intents and purposes like a long-tailed bunny. She's not the old friend that Cyrus was, but she is adorable, and already she lets me stroke her belly. I see how trusting she is, and how soft. When she falls asleep next to me, purring like a little engine, I feel myself warm to her. This is, after all, a love story.
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Remembering our dear Musetta, who we lost today, 16 1/2 years after I wrote this. Our riot grrrl, our funny little kitty, who brought us so much joy.