Missy Kitty misses Miss Kitty -- and so do we

The day after we moved last summer, when both the temperature and humidity might have been in triple digits, our new doorbell rang.

There to welcome us, bright and early, holding a plate of warm blueberry muffins, was Mrs. Rueseler, our new next-door neighbor.

She came into our disheveled new home that was still artistically decorated with cardboard boxes stacked everywhere. She didn't mind at all. As she sat on the living-room sofa, she was introduced to our ruling feline, Missy Kitty.

Mrs. Rueseler felt like she already knew Missy Kitty from reading about her in this column. She said to the cat: "Hello, Missy Kitty. I'm Miss Kitty. And we're going to be great friends."

We didn't know until later in our visit that Miss Kitty and Missy Kitty had already introduced themselves.

Anyone who knew Catherine Rueseler for longer than five minutes called her Kitty. She was a Southern charmer at 89, soon to be 90. She was an elegant belle and a steel magnolia at the same time. That's hard to pull off, but Kitty did it with style.

Just so we would be prepared, Kitty told us her doctors hadn't given her more than a few months to live. She made it nearly a year, during which time she was honored with a 90th birthday anniversary bash.

You could get a sense of Kitty's style from the display of hats and gloves she wore at most every public event outside the home until such convention fell, like so many tokens of a more elegant time, by the wayside.

Those hats were beautifully displayed, with Kitty's assistance, at the relatively new Cape Girardeau County History Museum in Jackson.

Now, about that earlier meeting between the two Kittys.

Missy Kitty, like most cats, is a creature of habit. Once a cat establishes a routine, there is heck to pay if that routine is interrupted in any way.

Well, a move across town would do that, wouldn't it?

After bringing Missy Kitty to her new home in a pet carrier, we let her out to explore her new surroundings. She immediately disappeared. Vanished. We suspected she might be making her way back to the house we had just left. We fully expected a phone call from the new owners to inform us that she was back "home."

But Kitty knew better. When she got up that morning on Day Two of the move, she looked out on her patio and saw Missy Kitty asleep on one of the patio chairs.

Kitty apologized that she hadn't put any cushions in the chairs, which meant Missy Kitty had slept on bare metal. We assured Kitty that Missy Kitty did not appear to be any the worse for wear. We only hoped the cat wouldn't become a nuisance for our new neighbor.

Missy Kitty has a way of making new friends on her own. We know of a couple of our new neighbors who put out saucers of milk for her. No wonder she gained half a pound this past year.

"Cut down on her food," the vet advised. OK, but how do we get everyone else caught in the palm of her paw to do the same?

A couple of Kitty's neighbors understood how difficult it was for her to retrieve the Southeast Missourian thrown in her driveway near the street. Whenever I saw the paper so far from her front door I would go over and take it to the door. I had no idea if Kitty even knew who was responsible.

One day the doorbell rang again. It was Kitty's daughter with a bouquet of beautiful tulips, one of my wife's favorite flowers. The flowers were to thank us for making Kitty's newspaper more accessible each morning.

How many times, do you suppose, over 90 years had Kitty been responsible for similar acts of kindness and generosity? It would be impossible, I know, to count them.

My wife and I -- and Missy Kitty -- will always count our nearly 11 months as her next-door neighbor as an honor and a privilege. Enjoying a window view of the birches in her backyard, particularly during the winter, is among the many happy memories Miss Kitty leaves for us to share.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.