Lolly by Kate Spiller / Doc S

April Fool’s Day will never be the same. A day that usually begins with jokes and pranks between friends, family, and co-workers was no joke for us. Lolly, a beloved pet and contributor to saving other cat’s lives, died today.

Lolly was a “clinic” cat at Antioch Dog and Cat Hospital, Kansas City, MO were I have worked as a veterinarian for the past 4 years. Lolly was already an established resident when I started working in June of 1999. Lolly first came to the clinic as a severely debilitated kitten. She had been found being thrown against a dumpster by some mean spirited children and was near death when a Good Samaritan saved her. She recovered well and was loved so much that she became apart of the clinic family. She was named Lolly after lollipops because, as a kitten, she liked to grab suckers from the basket for kids and dart away with her “prey”.

She was an absolutely beautiful calico. She was a bit of a big girl…18.7 pounds and clients always said, “Wow, what a fat cat.” I put her on a diet almost immediately and she slowly lost 3.5 pounds over the next 3 years. People still called her fat which always kind of irked me. In retrospect, her diet might have bought her some extra time with us. She died very suddenly, unexpectedly, and without warning. All our employees were shocked and devasted. She was only 7 years old and died of cardio-pulmonary failure.

Lolly had been there every morning and every night and every weekend that I ever worked. She didn’t like to drink from a bowl. I started almost every morning by turning on the faucet so she could drink. She was a lazy girl. Her favorite days were the days we would trim a bird’s wings…she loved the feathers. She didn’t really play with them. She just liked to hold and lick the feathers. Her favorite “toy” was a leather shoe lace. On several occasions, Lolly “paid her dues”. You see, Lolly was a life saving blood donor whenever a feline patient needed her.

What a wonderful spirit she was. She never complained. She never bit or scratched. She was just happy being with us everyday…even days that were so hectic we didn’t have time to pet her. We all miss her terribly. The clinic seems so empty. Everyday feels empty. Last night as I walked out of the treatment room door, I turned to shut off the light and, just like every night before, began to say, “Good night Lolly.” She wasn’t there. I will keep her spirit in my heart forever.


I miss you Lolly Loo,
Kate Spiller