She arrived at a few months old as a stray.
My Dougherty cousin in Indiana kept her alive the last months.
Scalini,
named for the endless stairs in Brunelleschi’s dome over the cathedral of
Florence, was a brave and resourceful hunter: she brought home and
devoured mice, voles, gophers daily, for years, lizards, the occasional
hummingbird, and even, once, a California kingsnake. Before her habitat
was built over by a house to the north, she was Queen of the Juniper Avenue
Hill. Scalini was an agile jumper and climber, fence posts being a
specialty, but never once jumped on a counter or tabletop. She was intelligent—she
knew “point” and which elevator door would open on which floor and learned to
use her cat door to the shed in twelve minutes flat! For several years she went
down in the morning with Hershel and jumped on his Mission Chair and stood up
until he covered her with her Serengeti sheet so she could have a three-hour
nap. She enjoyed excellent health until she was fifteen, and then bravely
endured the indignities of old age. She is survived by Heddy and Hershel
who are bereft and look for her in every corner.
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