Many moons ago a scared, injured tortoiseshell showed up at the door. Cats have that way of knowing. That yard. That door. Those people. We took her in.
She was one of those beautiful torties whose face was half black, half caramel. Dad named her Eurydice, after the wife whom Orpheus was able to bring back from the underworld. She was gentle and not meant to be feral: her hunting harvests usually consisted of insect parts and leaves. When we took in a stray kitten, she mothered her. As with all our cats, she had other names, but came to be called “Momcat.” She remained with us 23 years.
While dad still had his sight, he lovingly painted a memorial stone, which overlays her remains in his back yard beneath a towering bougainvillea.