Sheba began life as a stray in the foothills of the Colorado Rockies. We took her in, and she taught us how to have a cat. She made it easy – she sat down by the front door and waited patiently when she wanted to go out and leapt to the front window ledge when she was ready to come back in. To remind us to feed her (as if we ever forgot), she weaved in and out and around our ankles in the morning as we tried to make our way through the kitchen – tripping us if necessary – until she heard the sound of the can opener, at which point she knew she had been understood.
She moved with us to three different houses across thousands of miles without complaint, and helped to make each of those houses a home. She was with us for almost twenty years, so long that I can hardly remember a time before she came into our lives. So long that on some groggy mornings, I still second-guess my steps through the kitchen, despite all the years she’s been gone. Sheba is loved and remembered by Frank, Jeanie, and Nathan.