A Life Well Loved

Reflections on Sallee, our Feisty Tortie Who Chose Trust

There’s a certain honor in being chosen by a cat.

If you’re a cat person—especially a tortie person—you already know: they don’t give their trust away freely. It’s earned. One patient day at a time.

Sallee was one of our first rescues. For five years, I showed up for her. Twice a day, every day—meals delivered, gentle check-ins offered, always at a respectful distance. Her body language was clear: look, but don’t touch. And if you miss the cues? A swift swat, tortitude fully intact.

She lived wild, but tethered by the invisible thread between us.

Then came the night that stitched our lives together for good. Her litter of five 10-day old kittens, trapped in a drainage ditch that was beginning to fill with water. It was close to midnight. Armed with a travel kennel, a hoe (to reach through the grate and roll the kittens close enough to grab), and a silent prayer, I sat down next to her. I made a promise.

“If you’ll let me help you, I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.  Let me love you. I’ll help you raise these babies. I’ll find them good homes. I’ve got you.”

In the most surprising act of grace, Sallee didn’t fight. No hissing. No claws. She let me pick her up, calm and still, and watched as I gently retrieved each of her kittens to safety. That was the beginning of a new chapter for all of us.

Sallee became our backyard cat - "my princess" on the porch - all 5 lbs. of her surveying her domain with her signature mix of sass and sovereignty. She never quite lost her edge (torties rarely do), and you’d best read the room before assuming an invitation to pet. But she was ours. And we were hers.

As age caught up with her, we brought her indoors. The scaling of fences became too much; the comforts of home called her in.

Then, six months ago, life threw a curveball: hypertension robbed Sallee of her sight. The pressure was so high it blew out her retinas. More recently, fluid has started accumulating in her lungs—a result of the same heart disease.

You might think this would break a spirit like Sallee’s. But here’s the wonder of it all: she has softened. Completely.

The feisty princess has transitioned into the sweetest, calmest little soul you could imagine. She lives now at a slower pace, navigating her known pathways between cozy beds, water stations, and litter boxes. She listens deeply. She responds to her name with a perk of the head and an eager, gentle approach toward the sound of our voices.

She is still here. Fully here. Present. Content.

I don’t know how much longer we’ll get to share this life with her. What I do know is that Sallee’s is a life well loved—and a life well lived.

She reminds me daily of something I hold dear:
Loss does not have the final say. Challenge does not define the story. We do.

What some may see as tragedy—the loss of eyesight, the decline of the body—she saw as the invitation to expand into other ways of being. To tune in, to adapt, to find peace in what is.

Like Sallee, we can choose how we respond. Choose to soften. Choose to love anyway. Choose to be happy—even here, even now.

Because the truth is, joy is not a circumstance. It’s a decision.

And it’s one we can make, again and again.