Sorbet, our cat, died today at age 12. She was euthanized due to her deteriorating health brought on by abdominal cancer.
Sorbet distinguished herself many ways. Outwardly, she was extraordinarily beautiful, with the most captivating blue eyes you're likely to ever see in a cat. They changed dramatically in color based on the light, more so than any other cat we've seen. When caught in the sun, they were somehow simultaneously bright and deep, nearly radiant.
As well, her fur was as soft as it was long. You have not seen a look of pleasure on a cat as you would have seen the look on her face after brushing her.
She spent every night in bed with Julia and I. We had a routine where I would get in bed then she would jump up and perform a dance then flop heavily against my hip where I would aggressively pet her. I learned how to use my iPhone one-handed because of her. Often, she would come up to my face and I would tell her how pretty she was and other sweet nothings, and she would purr and head bump with relish.
Sorbet was also the sweetest cat any of us can remember. So calm and collected it was very difficult to rattle her, even when she had to spend the night with Marsha's dog Poquito, who tried so many times to get her to play with him. She took it all in stride, like a runway model ignoring the shouts of the paparazzi.
During gaming, she would often demand to be let out of the master bedroom then quickly demand to let back in. She was the definition of a finicky cat.
She was not a vocal cat, rarely meowing or voicing displeasure. But when she did, her raspy meows reminded us of Eartha Kitt: outwardly sweet but harboring an undercurrent of determination that suggested she not be trifled with.
She primarily expressed herself through her beautiful eyes. It was the look in her eyes that informed us about today.
We love her terribly, miss her more, and are sad that she had to leave.
