Friday morning, October 12, at 4:30 a.m., I woke up and went to check on my sick kitty. My first sight on turning on the kitchen light was Chico, the 25 pound, jet-black feline, who inhabited my house with kitty and I.

Chico came with my daughter from North Carolina in 2007, when she moved back to Canada. When she rented an apartment and was unable to take him, he stayed with kitty (Violet,) and I.

Chico and Violet were not immediate friends. The five-pound Violet was Queen of the house and let that be known without delay to Chico, (which ironically,) means small or tiny.

This huge black puss was, from the beginning, terrified of the tiny Violet, who could, in an instant, and without pause, become a violent whirlwind of claws and teeth.

Violet did, after two (or so,) years, begin to tolerate the immense rival, as she was the obvious favourite, receiving first treat and lap privileges. Chico however, was ever wary of her, and I will add, with good reason.

Violet, however was arthritic, caused by an ill-healed wound before I adopted her from the SPCA. As time passed, she was less and less able to mount offensives against Chico, and he grew not only less wary, but even protective at times, of his adopted sister/rival.

One evening when I got home from work, I found her with a claw stuck in the roller under my bed. Chico was there beside her, and growled at me as I approached. He went so far as to hiss at me when I knelt to discover the problem. It took some minutes and a few scratches from the dishevelled Violet and hisses from the worried Chico before she was released.

That particular Friday morning, found Chico on my dining room table, which, he was well aware, was off limits. My first thought was to shoo him off, but he was more than reluctant, in fact, more stubborn than he had ever been since our acquaintance, which was obstinate indeed. I gave up and went in search of Violet, and found her immediately beneath where he hovered, cold and un-breathing.

Violet had passed away.

Chico does not understand that she now lies beneath the autumn leaves of the apple tree, in the far corner of the yard, but he does know he misses her, as do I.

RIP Violet.