As best we can tell, she adopted us in December of 2022. Not that we minded. We were coming off of two very difficult years and this little furball proved to be the bright spot we needed. Despite her diminutive size, she was fully grown and ready to reproduce—a situation we immediately remedied, but not without great sacrifice by the employee who volunteered to catch her and came away scratched and bloodied.
Some of the staff decided to call her Precious—a name that was terribly misleading. She was a fearless hunter and often brought her kills for us to admire, always placing them on the mat outside the employee entrance, unless of course they were still alive in which case she simply played them into submission. There were lizards . . . and lizard heads . . . and lizard tails . . . and just lizard bodies. There were birds and headless squirrels and rats and mice and moles. And snakes. Snakes that were, on occasion, still very much alive. They were her gifts to us, and we tried to be appreciative, even of the still writhing reptiles.
Precious made herself at home, quickly realizing she was the queen of all she surveyed. You might find her lounging atop the freshly washed hearse or sprawled between the hood and windshield of an employee’s newly parked vehicle, warming herself with the heat from the engine. As long as there were holly trees close to the building, you were likely to find her on the roof and if not there, possibly curled up in the seat of the lawnmower underneath the carport. She even had a specially designed “cathouse” in an old cabinet, one that offered protection from the wind and a bed that was just exactly the right distance from the heat lamp that warmed the space. She seemed to appreciate it and spent many a cold winter’s night stretched out in the reddish glow of her own personal kitty-sized sauna—until she found that she could sneak into the garage and hide until everyone left, then roam about freely. Which is why the staff had to start setting the alarm system on Stay instead of Away. She kept activating the infrared sensors which, in turn, notified the monitoring service who, in turn, called the police.
If you were still long enough you might get a headbutt as a way of requesting (read that as demanding) an ear scritchel (a word that probably isn’t spelled correctly but is most definitely accurate). Chin scritchels were also allowed as was stroking and petting. And if she trusted you, she would flop over and offer you her belly for a good rubbing. But if you ever even thought about picking her up, you learned very quickly where her boundaries—and the Band-Aids—were.
All of this, and so much more, changed on Friday, March 14th. That was the evening we found her. We don’t really know what happened. Only that our hearts are broken and covered with itty-bitty kitty prints, thanks to a little furball who chose the crew in Savannah as her family. Rest in peace, little one. I don’t know what it’s like on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge, but I’m pretty sure they already know who the boss is.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
