"Cute" was her middle name. And it showed.
Cloey Cute Marcella-DeBroccolo Barber-Edie was one out of a huge litter of gorgeous chocolate-point Siamese kittens when 12-year-old Kara Barber found her in the autumn of 1984. Kara, her mother and sister had come to choose a purebred Siamese from a breeder family, and Cloey was the only kitten that the owner could catch. He presented the kitten to Kara, and a lifelong friendship was born.
Cloey lived to be twenty years old. Through the years, she stayed by my side through my middle- and high-school years, my going away to college (she stayed with my parents), moving into post-grad party housing (she came with me, I still can't believe she survived it), getting married (Cloey helped my husband propose to me by showing up with the engagement ring attached to her collar) and moving to South Carolina, Illinois, Wisconsin and back to Indiana with us. She was a mouser of unparalleled efficiency in her younger days (she'd often leave me a "gift" of a dead mouse--once in my bed!), but always managed to be kind, loving and trusting to any and all humans who sought her out. When two children were born into the Edie household, Cloey adopted them as her own, tolerating the youngsters as they petted and carried her, even though she had to clean herself thoroughly afterward to wash the "kid stink" off of her.
As a kitten, Cloey was a child prodigy. She was the only cat in recorded history that would actually fetch (a favorite "footie"), come when she was called, and walk on a leash (when she was in a *really* good mood). It delighted the whole family when we would toss her "footie" across the room and watch this normally sophisticated, beautiful Siamese break into a run, grab the mint-green tattered piece of fabric, and trot it back to us in her mouth. I was endlessly proud of her. When we would travel, people would marvel at the softness of her fur. "She feels like a rabbit!", they'd exclaim. Cloey was an immaculate groomer, often grooming me as well as herself.
When I was young, Cloey was my best friend, listening to me and comforting me when nobody else would. She always knew when I'd had a bad day, and she'd come and sit on my chest as I laid in bed, looking me in the eyes, wordlessly communicating her infinite wisdom to me. Other days, she would entertain the whole family by wandering the halls doing the trademark Siamese yowl. People who would call me would wonder who was the baby I had crying in the background. "No, it's Cloey practicing her opera," I'd say. In later years when her performances actually woke up my real babies, her name became "Cloey, HUSH!".
People would maintain that Cloey was my first baby, but I disagree. We always had more of an equal friendship, a pure partnership, than a mother-daughter relationship. I told people Cloey was my "spiritual advisor", and she was. She was an old soul, so much wiser than I was. She taught me more than most humans have, and she impressed people throughout her life with her grace, poise, humor, perserverance and otherworldly beauty.
I have never known a cat like Cloey, and I'm sure I never will. When my time comes to leave this earth, I'm certain that Cloey will be the first face I see, looking at me with that "it TOOK you long enough!" expression she sometimes wore, and she'll be my guide and my mentor in the next life as she was in this one.
As her gravestone says, she was the best cat, ever.
Cloey Cute Marcella-DeBroccolo Barber-Edie was one out of a huge litter of gorgeous chocolate-point Siamese kittens when 12-year-old Kara Barber found her in the autumn of 1984. Kara, her mother and sister had come to choose a purebred Siamese from a breeder family, and Cloey was the only kitten that the owner could catch. He presented the kitten to Kara, and a lifelong friendship was born.
Cloey lived to be twenty years old. Through the years, she stayed by my side through my middle- and high-school years, my going away to college (she stayed with my parents), moving into post-grad party housing (she came with me, I still can't believe she survived it), getting married (Cloey helped my husband propose to me by showing up with the engagement ring attached to her collar) and moving to South Carolina, Illinois, Wisconsin and back to Indiana with us. She was a mouser of unparalleled efficiency in her younger days (she'd often leave me a "gift" of a dead mouse--once in my bed!), but always managed to be kind, loving and trusting to any and all humans who sought her out. When two children were born into the Edie household, Cloey adopted them as her own, tolerating the youngsters as they petted and carried her, even though she had to clean herself thoroughly afterward to wash the "kid stink" off of her.
As a kitten, Cloey was a child prodigy. She was the only cat in recorded history that would actually fetch (a favorite "footie"), come when she was called, and walk on a leash (when she was in a *really* good mood). It delighted the whole family when we would toss her "footie" across the room and watch this normally sophisticated, beautiful Siamese break into a run, grab the mint-green tattered piece of fabric, and trot it back to us in her mouth. I was endlessly proud of her. When we would travel, people would marvel at the softness of her fur. "She feels like a rabbit!", they'd exclaim. Cloey was an immaculate groomer, often grooming me as well as herself.
When I was young, Cloey was my best friend, listening to me and comforting me when nobody else would. She always knew when I'd had a bad day, and she'd come and sit on my chest as I laid in bed, looking me in the eyes, wordlessly communicating her infinite wisdom to me. Other days, she would entertain the whole family by wandering the halls doing the trademark Siamese yowl. People who would call me would wonder who was the baby I had crying in the background. "No, it's Cloey practicing her opera," I'd say. In later years when her performances actually woke up my real babies, her name became "Cloey, HUSH!".
People would maintain that Cloey was my first baby, but I disagree. We always had more of an equal friendship, a pure partnership, than a mother-daughter relationship. I told people Cloey was my "spiritual advisor", and she was. She was an old soul, so much wiser than I was. She taught me more than most humans have, and she impressed people throughout her life with her grace, poise, humor, perserverance and otherworldly beauty.
I have never known a cat like Cloey, and I'm sure I never will. When my time comes to leave this earth, I'm certain that Cloey will be the first face I see, looking at me with that "it TOOK you long enough!" expression she sometimes wore, and she'll be my guide and my mentor in the next life as she was in this one.
As her gravestone says, she was the best cat, ever.
"Cute" was her middle name. And it showed.
Cloey Cute Marcella-DeBroccolo Barber-Edie was one out of a huge litter of gorgeous chocolate-point Siamese kittens when 12-year-old Kara Barber found her in the autumn of 1984. Kara, her mother and sister had come to choose a purebred Siamese from a breeder family, and Cloey was the only kitten that the owner could catch. He presented the kitten to Kara, and a lifelong friendship was born.
Cloey lived to be twenty years old. Through the years, she stayed by my side through my middle- and high-school years, my going away to college (she stayed with my parents), moving into post-grad party housing (she came with me, I still can't believe she survived it), getting married (Cloey helped my husband propose to me by showing up with the engagement ring attached to her collar) and moving to South Carolina, Illinois, Wisconsin and back to Indiana with us. She was a mouser of unparalleled efficiency in her younger days (she'd often leave me a "gift" of a dead mouse--once in my bed!), but always managed to be kind, loving and trusting to any and all humans who sought her out. When two children were born into the Edie household, Cloey adopted them as her own, tolerating the youngsters as they petted and carried her, even though she had to clean herself thoroughly afterward to wash the "kid stink" off of her.
As a kitten, Cloey was a child prodigy. She was the only cat in recorded history that would actually fetch (a favorite "footie"), come when she was called, and walk on a leash (when she was in a *really* good mood). It delighted the whole family when we would toss her "footie" across the room and watch this normally sophisticated, beautiful Siamese break into a run, grab the mint-green tattered piece of fabric, and trot it back to us in her mouth. I was endlessly proud of her. When we would travel, people would marvel at the softness of her fur. "She feels like a rabbit!", they'd exclaim. Cloey was an immaculate groomer, often grooming me as well as herself.
When I was young, Cloey was my best friend, listening to me and comforting me when nobody else would. She always knew when I'd had a bad day, and she'd come and sit on my chest as I laid in bed, looking me in the eyes, wordlessly communicating her infinite wisdom to me. Other days, she would entertain the whole family by wandering the halls doing the trademark Siamese yowl. People who would call me would wonder who was the baby I had crying in the background. "No, it's Cloey practicing her opera," I'd say. In later years when her performances actually woke up my real babies, her name became "Cloey, HUSH!".
People would maintain that Cloey was my first baby, but I disagree. We always had more of an equal friendship, a pure partnership, than a mother-daughter relationship. I told people Cloey was my "spiritual advisor", and she was. She was an old soul, so much wiser than I was. She taught me more than most humans have, and she impressed people throughout her life with her grace, poise, humor, perserverance and otherworldly beauty.
I have never known a cat like Cloey, and I'm sure I never will. When my time comes to leave this earth, I'm certain that Cloey will be the first face I see, looking at me with that "it TOOK you long enough!" expression she sometimes wore, and she'll be my guide and my mentor in the next life as she was in this one.
As her gravestone says, she was the best cat, ever.
Cloey Cute Marcella-DeBroccolo Barber-Edie was one out of a huge litter of gorgeous chocolate-point Siamese kittens when 12-year-old Kara Barber found her in the autumn of 1984. Kara, her mother and sister had come to choose a purebred Siamese from a breeder family, and Cloey was the only kitten that the owner could catch. He presented the kitten to Kara, and a lifelong friendship was born.
Cloey lived to be twenty years old. Through the years, she stayed by my side through my middle- and high-school years, my going away to college (she stayed with my parents), moving into post-grad party housing (she came with me, I still can't believe she survived it), getting married (Cloey helped my husband propose to me by showing up with the engagement ring attached to her collar) and moving to South Carolina, Illinois, Wisconsin and back to Indiana with us. She was a mouser of unparalleled efficiency in her younger days (she'd often leave me a "gift" of a dead mouse--once in my bed!), but always managed to be kind, loving and trusting to any and all humans who sought her out. When two children were born into the Edie household, Cloey adopted them as her own, tolerating the youngsters as they petted and carried her, even though she had to clean herself thoroughly afterward to wash the "kid stink" off of her.
As a kitten, Cloey was a child prodigy. She was the only cat in recorded history that would actually fetch (a favorite "footie"), come when she was called, and walk on a leash (when she was in a *really* good mood). It delighted the whole family when we would toss her "footie" across the room and watch this normally sophisticated, beautiful Siamese break into a run, grab the mint-green tattered piece of fabric, and trot it back to us in her mouth. I was endlessly proud of her. When we would travel, people would marvel at the softness of her fur. "She feels like a rabbit!", they'd exclaim. Cloey was an immaculate groomer, often grooming me as well as herself.
When I was young, Cloey was my best friend, listening to me and comforting me when nobody else would. She always knew when I'd had a bad day, and she'd come and sit on my chest as I laid in bed, looking me in the eyes, wordlessly communicating her infinite wisdom to me. Other days, she would entertain the whole family by wandering the halls doing the trademark Siamese yowl. People who would call me would wonder who was the baby I had crying in the background. "No, it's Cloey practicing her opera," I'd say. In later years when her performances actually woke up my real babies, her name became "Cloey, HUSH!".
People would maintain that Cloey was my first baby, but I disagree. We always had more of an equal friendship, a pure partnership, than a mother-daughter relationship. I told people Cloey was my "spiritual advisor", and she was. She was an old soul, so much wiser than I was. She taught me more than most humans have, and she impressed people throughout her life with her grace, poise, humor, perserverance and otherworldly beauty.
I have never known a cat like Cloey, and I'm sure I never will. When my time comes to leave this earth, I'm certain that Cloey will be the first face I see, looking at me with that "it TOOK you long enough!" expression she sometimes wore, and she'll be my guide and my mentor in the next life as she was in this one.
As her gravestone says, she was the best cat, ever.
