Bascha Bear

Justin and I just got back from a vet trip with our dear cat Bascha. She's 18 years old, diabetic and has hyper-thyroidism. She has no teeth, doesn't see much and hears even less. To care for her I've learned to give needles and how to take blood from her ear. And for many reasons, those included, we're starting to see that we're nearing the end of her days.

We love Bascha so dearly. She's been in my life for 15 years and though I did have rabbits, I consider her my first pet. I got her from the Humane Society when she was 3. She'd been found on the street and was so skinny we thought she was a kitten. She was missing all the fur on her back haunches and the Humane Society had decided they'd give her no more care. So I cared for her instead.

She's a scrapper. When I first got her she was a little wild, didn't like to be held and would bite you if touched her lower back. But over time she began to feel safe and we discovered that she was full of purrs and love and was deeply intuitive. She's tough enough that even when Jinx grew to twice her size, Bascha remained in charge. She fell in love with Justin the minute he came through the door, so I knew he was a keeper. Justin teases that she's just like me - all love and sweetness until you tick her off and then the fire comes out.

Tomorrow we'll get the results of her tests and then we'll make a decision about what to do next. If it's time to say goodbye, we'll spend the weekend loving her up and actually allowing her to have some tuna. Or maybe fries, she's got a thing for anything greasy. We're blessed for every day we've had with her. She's our beloved, which is what the word Bascha means.