Tonight, Madeline Waffles was hit by a car and died. She was a sweet, loving, loud and skittish little thing. She loved to sleep beside me and Mandy, wriggling between us until she'd achieved the maximum surface area exposure to snuggles possible. She'd follow the chinchilla around the house at a safe distance, then leap out of the way when the fearless Elmo would trot right up to her. Madeline was tiny and scared of her own shadow.
A couple months ago she decided she would climb a tree outside out apartment. The tree led to the roof of the apartment next door. She naturally jumped onto the roof. Two hours later, I'm climbing up a rickety painting ladder up the side of a two-story building with a bag of kitty treats in my hand to lure her away.
Stanley is walking around the house crying. They were inseparable their whole life, and now he's on his own. My wife-to-be is trapped in Virginia dealing with a death in her immediate family. I had to call her to tell her Madeline was dead. I actually said, 'are you sitting down,' because I just didn't know what else to say. The lady that hit her carried her body, wrapped in a stranger's t-shirt to our front door. Stanley led her here. She was devastated. It takes a certain kind of decency to do that.
I loved that cat. Mandy loved that cat, and so does her little brother Stanley. Goodbye, Madeline Waffles. You were my favorite.