I had another post in mind for today, but my family had to say good-bye to a special friend and I felt she deserved a spot here. Dixie  was the first cat I could ever claim as my own, although I inherited and loved another one from my husband. She was eighteen years old this year. The reason I can remember so well is because my husband and I adopted her shortly after we returned from our honeymoon in June of 1995. I was very excited. We already had my husband’s cat, Woody, but Dixie was our first baby together.

As such, she needed an apt name. We had just been to Disney World for our honeymoon (another first for me), and I was still very much caught up in the magic of it. While there, we stayed at Dixie Landings, a Disney resort that has since been renamed. I loved that magical stay. I didn’t have to worry about anything. No car trouble, no work at a job I hated, no bills I couldn’t afford to pay or laundry I needed to do or noisy neighbors. Nothing but me and my husband. I loved every minute of it.

And so, when we got back and found the kitten I wanted to adopt, we named her Dixie.

Dixie was the cat of my dreams. Spunky and sweet from the very beginning, she even charmed Woody, who was a tiger in every other respect. But he and Dixie loved each other right up until he died six years ago. Since then, Dixie has shown her age a little. Don’t get me wrong. She was a queen right up until the end. Even today when I sat beside her expecting each breath to be her last, she was regal. Beautiful.

Good-bye, my tri-colored beauty, my muse, my confidante and companion. I’ll miss you.