By ElFreda Cox

To those who have read my columns in recent years, it won't be very hard to come up with the topic of this one -- another cat made her home with me and the boys for several months.

She was a tiny thing when she wandered up to the house, and not at all friendly like Bloomer had been. She would come eat the food I put out for her, but if I even dared get close, she was off in a flash. When it got bitterly cold last winter, she came inside but still avoided any close contact with me.

As is my custom, I decided to give her a Stoddard County town name -- Idalia -- Dalia for short. She eventually allowed me to pet her some, but not much. When she looked at me, I could swear it was Mom staring back at me. It was such a disapproving look.

I seem to remember an episode of "Friends" in which Phoebe is convinced a cat is actually her mother reincarnated. Dalia's stare almost made a believer out of me.

In the past few weeks, though, Dalia began to look like she was skin and bones, despite regular feedings. She began crawling into my lap, and I allowed her to because I was happy she was finally coming around to be friendly with me. Over the weekend she developed conjunctivitis. I got a paper towel and doused in with hot water, then gently tried to clean the cat's eyes. She seemed to appreciate the attention.

Sunday morning before I went to church, I opened the door to let Bloomer outside and Dalia followed him. Later in the day Bloomer came back, but Dalia was nowhere to be found.

My brother-in-law brought his John Deere mower and heavy duty weed eater to help with the yard work. A flat on my own riding lawnmower meant two trips to get air tanks (the first was faulty) before I could start mowing myself. After I finished up, I proceeded to my garden to rake out the grass clippings and pull out as many erstwhile herbal invaders as I could. I then started to tie up the tomato plants. By that time I was hot and tired and hungry.

I wondered about Dalia, though. I called for her, but she didn't come. I searched for her, but she was nowhere to be found.

Monday morning, as I took out the trash, I found her lifeless body underneath the picnic table. I hurried to get dressed and ready, then went out to the storage shed to get the shovel. The earth turned easily, despite the heavy mulberry roots left from tree removal earlier in the spring. When I thought I had dug a hole deep enough, I went back to get the little form. I guessed she had not been dead for long because her body was still limber when I lifted it with my shovel. Gently, I placed the body in the hole, thankful that I had correctly judged the depth and breadth needed. A few shovelfuls of dirt and the body was covered.

Dalia was a sweet cat, despite her skittish nature. Maybe if she had been more friendly, I could have gotten her to the vet. I wish things could have turned out differently for us. I know I did the best I could by her, and I will miss her.

ElFreda Cox is the Bloomfield staff writer for The North Stoddard Countian.