I have not seen Zelda for two months. My neighbor has not seen her for a month. Tuesday night my neighbor messaged me, “Unfortunately, I am beginning to believe Zelda ran out of lives. I am sad.” I am sad, too. Even though Zelda would not allow us to handle her, she was an important part of our lives. This photo captures her attitude, but it doesn’t capture her friendliness, which is hard to explain from a cat that won’t let you touch her. But she regularly came when called. 
Zelda wanted her can of food. She wasn’t willing to be petted in exchange for it though. She was confident. She could provide for herself if she had to.
Three years ago, she allowed herself to be trapped and taken to Dr. Valeri, who checked her overall health, spayed her, and vaccinated her. When I tried to trap her the next year to get her shots updated, Zelda looked from the trap to me as if to say, “You must be out of your mind if you think I’ll get in there.” So, even though man’s law says rabies vaccination occur annually, Zelda’s law said, “I’ve been on my own this long. I’ll take my chances.”
Zelda was responsible for many, many kittens. My neighbor said she was having kittens under their shed when they still had their dog. Their dog has been gone for at least ten years. So Zelda was even older than I thought she was. A year ago, on Christmas Day, she allowed me to stroke her a few times. I have at least two of her kittens in the house — Sapphire and Daisy. Both of them have adopted their mama’s attitude about being handled and are very hand’s off cats. Like their mama, they want to be near us.
This morning, at the vet’s office, the tech deactivated her account, assuring me that if Zelda reappears, she can be reactivated again. This is my last picture of her — hunting in my neighbor’s yard in October 2019. I do think Zelda enjoyed being retired from motherhood. Although, we thoroughly enjoyed watching her play with the surviving kittens from her final two litters — Nick and Daisy — on the side porch. They were a fun family, and Zelda played. The idyllic family came to an end when Nick got hit by a car a month shy of his first birthday, and shortly afterward, I brought Daisy inside after she got spayed. Zelda was on her own, and she didn’t mesh with Scooter or Grey Socks Ghost who showed up at the feeder when Zelda was the only cat. She spent more time under the back porch. When I noticed she hadn’t appeared on the game camera in over a month, I made sure she had a doghouse, a timed dispensing feeder, and a water tower on the back porch that she could get to for food, water, and shelter. She rarely used the shelter, but she did eat the food and drink the water. She received her daily can of food either on or under the back porch until she started spending more time across the street while I was in the hospital. My neighbor fed her the canned food, but I suspect Zelda’s time was near anyway. I’m sure we’ll both be hoping against hope that Zelda will reappear, talking to us and waiting for her daily can at a distance just out of our reach. But if she doesn’t, Zelda was a community cat who was well-loved and is deeply missed. Go in Peace, Dear One.
