The Name

Many people name their cars and/or give them a gender. We've never been the type to do such a thing. Boats are unique in that way though. For some reason (I'm sure my husband would know exactly why), boats are always 'female' in gender. Every boat must have a name, because that's how it is identified. Much like your house has a specific address, your boat must have a specific name. So, we've been thinking of names for the boat. I know it seems way too early to do such a thing, but much like parents planning for a child, it seems like a logical thing to do, for us. Now I will tell you that we have picked a name, and all four of us undoubtedly agree on it. However, I should give you a background story so you'll understand why we will use that name:

It was September of 1998 and we were living in Colorado. We were just arriving home to our apartment complex after having been visiting with friends. It was late, and cold. That night was predicted to be the first heavy snow of the season, and judging from the air temperature, it seemed they were predicting it correctly. We were supposed to get around a foot of snow, and it was predicted that it would stay for awhile (if not all winter). Since it was late, there were no parking spots close by our stairwell (of course - the joys of apartment living), so we parked a little way down and began our brisk walk to the door. 

I heard her before I saw her. It was a kitten and she was crying. I immediately began looking around for the sound, and following the cry (I always did have a soft heart when it came to animals). Then I saw her. She was just inside the fence near the building, and she and I both froze upon seeing each other. I remember my breath hitching as I noticed her right paw seemed to look wrong. It seemed like it was mangled or disfigured (from what I could judge in the dark, at a distance). I began to slowly walk towards her talking softly to her. I expected her to immediately run, but she didn't. She just sat there watching me. I got to the fence and realized she wasn't hurt at all. She was a polydactyl (a condition where the cat has additional toes on their paw). She was filthy, but beautiful to me all the same. She was black and white with the appearance of a normal American breed cat, except for her paws, which were exceptional. She had large green eyes that stayed on me while I stood and talked to her. I asked her why she was out all alone, and where she lived. Of course I got no answer from her, I only got her eyes boring into me. I fell in love with her immediately and exclaimed to my husband that she was a polydactyl. I was worried about the oncoming storm. It was supposed to be really bad and I feared for her safety. But, we already had two cats waiting for us upstairs. We had both agreed, after the second of those two, we would have no more. I begrudgingly sighed, wished her a safe evening, and trudged up to the apartment. As soon as I turned my back on her, I saw her sprint under the row of cars in front of the apartment. I hoped she would be okay.

As soon as we got upstairs and in the door (we lived on the second floor of three), I began voicing my fears to my husband. The poor little thing was clearly alone. It was supposed to be so cold (well below freezing), with so much snow. How would the little thing survive? I wondered how long it had been since she'd eaten, she was clearly filthy and had been out awhile. My husband (never being the one to be able to say no to me) sighed heavily and said fine. If I went back out there and the cat came to me, then we could bring her in for the night and feed her. He said he didn't want me prowling the complex looking for her (she was probably gone anyway), but I could step out the door and call for her and see if she would come. So I did just that. I stepped outside onto the breezeway and stood at the top of the stairs looking down on the row of cars that I had seen her run under. I called for her, just a fews kitty kitties. She came running out from under a dark green jeep, bolting up the stairs, and straight into my arms. I took her inside and straight to the spare bedroom, where we then closed her in away from the other cats. She immediately hid under the futon we had in there, and I left her to get her some food and water. I spent the next several hours closed in there with her. I sat talking softly to her and coaxing her out from under the futon. She eventually edged her way to the front, where I could get a good look at her. She was even more beautiful up close. Her coloring was as I had described, except her paws were all completely white. She had extra toes, but more to my surprise, her front legs looked liked she had actually tried to grow a second paw each. She had seven toes on each front foot, with one extra claw on each rear foot. I immediately named her. I told her I would call her Lily for her lily white paws. I also knew that unless I could find a previous owner, she was mine.

I spent the next few days looking for her owners. No one had heard of anyone looking for a cat. There were no missing cat reports that matched her description. She seemed alone. We took her to the vet to have her looked over. She was healthy, about a year and a half old (though she had the appearance of looking much younger) and had already been spayed. My other two cats had been declawed, but I feared doing such a thing to her. I felt she needed her claws for protection (especially since, at full grown, she was half the size of my oldest cat - who was as mean as they come). I was also afraid that declawing her would cripple her, considering how unique her paws were (a fear my vet agreed with). So we brought her home and introduced her to her two new brothers. She was clearly trained on where and when to use her claws, and not to get onto counters or tables. She had obviously been an inside cat before. She also had a extreme fear of dogs. A dog's bark from outside would send her cowering under the bed till I coaxed her out. I wondered if her previous owners had a dog that perhaps wasn't very nice to her. She had a knack for getting out. On more than one occasion she would slip out the door when we went to leave, only to be carried back into the house. We figured she must have slipped out while her previous owners were moving, and they either couldn't find her, or simply chose to leave her. I knew that I had saved her that night, and that she had picked me at the same time.

That would not be the first occasion that I would save her. Over the course of her life, I saved her countless times. My oldest cat loved to use her as a chew toy, which I did not tolerate. I'm not sure how many times I saved her from being trapped by him (under the bed, behind the toilet, behind furniture, etc). After the kids were around, Lily seemed to constantly get shut into a room or closet by one of them (purely by accident, but traumatic none the less). She never seemed worried when I found her. She knew she only had to cry, and I would come. One time I heard her crying from downstairs, and went running upstairs. My daughter (who was only a toddler at the time) had tied Lily to her bed because she didn't want Lily to leave her room. I untied the poor thing and had a talk with my daughter on how dangerous such a thing was for the kitty. I chuckled at Lily, it was like her crying was 'tattling' on my daughter.

Lily got out on several occasions as well, and was usually immediately caught and put back inside. However their were a few times that she didn't get caught and we thought we had lost her. One such time was on the night we brought my son home from the hospital. My parents had come down to visit and see their grandchild. They got in late, and we told them to unpack the next morning since it was dark out. After we went to bed, they decided to unpack anyway and accidentally let my Lily out. We were frantic at her absence the next morning. We roamed the neighborhood calling her, and we put up fliers everywhere. It was three days until we got a call from a neighbor, three doors down, saying she had seen our little one hiding under her porch. My husband went down to personally thank the women and look at the place she had seen our cat. Surprisingly, Lily was still there, too afraid to come out. She had probably been there the whole time.

One time I went outside onto the back patio, only to have Lily run up to me from under a bush. She had gotten out (one of the kids had probably not been paying attention) and was ready to come back in. The very last time she got out, her absence wasn't noticed until she didn't arrive for breakfast. I ransacked the house looking for her before I realized she had probably gotten out when the door had stood open for the delivery guy the night before. I went out with the flashlight and called for her. I was frantic. She was an old lady at this point, where would she go? I remember stopping and looking at the house and thinking "which way would she go?". I knew that she would have stayed under cover and in the shadows. I followed the bushes around. I began following the house, fence, and flower beds of each house. I didn't care that I looked like a creepy stalker with a flashlight up at people's houses. I had to find her. I did find her four houses down. I heard her calling for me, as I was calling for her. She had been so afraid that she had wedged herself deep into a bush. I couldn't even see how she could have gotten in there, let alone how to get her out. She had been so scared that she had urinated on herself and just laid there. I finally, out of desperation, reached into that bush with my hand. I grabbed ahold of her by the nap of her neck, and just lifted her through the bush. I cradled her all the way home telling her how she was safe and going home.

Last December, Lily finally went to a place I couldn't save her. She was around 17 years old. She had a mini-stroke that compromised her badly. She had trouble walking, and I would carry her to her food, water, litter box, the bed, and the couch. The second mini-stroke another week later took her from me. She laid on my arm, while I whispered I loved her, as she parted from my life.

I can't begin to describe to you how important a part of my life Lily became. She I and were the best of friends. She was always in my lap, or sleeping under the covers with me. She was my own personal 'live' stuffed animal. Whenever I was sad or depressed, she was always there to give me comfort. I cried for several months after I lost her, and writing this causes me to tear up again. Everyone who ever met my Lily fell in love with her. I was fortunate she chose to spend her life with me.

The whole house felt her loss. As we continued our discussions about the boat, it was without hesitation as to what we would name it. It will be christened 'The Liliana' after my beloved, departed, friend. She will live on in our hearts and memories, forever.