Moose

"He followed me home."

This was the story Mom told the day Moose entered our house. And, I'm sure, it was at least partially true. I'm sure Moose followed Mom home from her job at CVS Pharmacy.

But I'm equally sure she encouraged him along the way, calling him, "Puss Puss Puss!" and petting his huge head along the way until she'd gotten him to her front door and in.

And in he would stay for the better part of two decades until Sunday morning, when he laid down to sleep and never woke up again.

He'd been struggling for the past few weeks, most likely with kidney failure, and with each day he ate and drank less and less. I kept him close most of those nights, letting him lie on my chest for a while, stroking his head, telling him what a good boy he was, even if that wasn't exactly true.

Oftentimes, he could be a bastard, chasing the other cats around the house at all hours of the day and night, thumping them in the head and wrestling with any other males in the vicinity. (The past couple of years, that was Bumpy.)

Friday night, he walked out, under his own power, to the water dish in the dining room and drank for a minute or two. Then he returned to his hidey hole by the heat vent in the living room and pretty much stayed there until Sunday morning, when I brought him out to lie next to me by the couch.

And that's where, sometime just after dawn, he breathed his last.

I'm going to miss that old tomcat. The other cats will miss him too, especially Cocoa, who had adopted Moose as her "daddy." She'd curl up with him, no matter where he was or whether or not he was in the mood for such.

And Bumpy? Who will he thump in the head every day? And who will thump him back? The other two cats in the house--Mimi and Cocoa--are gentle souls who only fight in self-defense. Bumpy won't find much play from those two.

Over the past few weeks, when Moose struggled to eat, I came home anxiously, not knowing what I'd find when I got there.

Now? I know what I'll find: An empty spot where Moose used to be.

Like I said--I'll miss that old tomcat. I miss him already.

I leave you with a few photos of the old boy. He loved to pose for the camera.

No Cat in the Window

I'm a creature of habit. Get up at the same time every day. Leave for work at the same time. Get home around the same time. Eat dinner. Watch TV. Go to "bed" (which, for me, still means sleeping on Mom's living room couch). Get up again at the same time the next morning.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Part of my morning and evening routines involved putting out food for Petunia, the cat who lived on our back porch until she was run over by a car this past weekend.

Now I get up, put down food for the cats and look out the back window into the yard.

No cat's face staring back through the window. No paws knocking on the window, asking for attention. No movement in the yard at all.

There's still movement in the house, though. Mimi, Bumpy and Cocoa all still circle me like little furry sharks, all wanting to be petted and fed.

Not Moose, though. He stays in his current hidey-hole, in front of the living room heat vent, and doesn't show any interest.

For the past few nights, I've brought the food to him, putting out some Friskies Shreds (lots of liquid in those tins) on a small plastic lid. He'd come out, nibble on the food for a few minutes (mostly licking up the gravy) and then head on back in front of the vent. And when I went to bed, he'd come up and lie on my chest for a while until I needed to roll over and set him gently down on the floor.

Last night, though, he didn't come up to me. He stayed in his hidey hole near the vent. And this morning, I couldn't coax him to eat even a bite of the plate of food I put down for him.

I fear his time is coming soon.

Every (Kitty) Picture Tells a Story 9/24/21

Moose would like to know what you think you're doing.

Every (Kitty) Picture Tells a Story 7/28/21

Moose wants to know what you think you're doing.

Every (Kitty) Picture Tells a Story 5/17/21

A rare moment of peace in the household. Trust me--they don't group like this very often, or for very long.

Every (Kitty) Picture Tells a Story 11/6/20

Moore wants to know what you think you're doing.

Every (Kitty) Picture Tells a Story 7/21/20

Here's a rare shot (from left to right): Mimi, Moose, Cocoa and Bumpy, all at the same window at the same time without fighting. Must have been birds in the tree out front that day.

Every Picture Tells a Story 6/8/20

Moose wants to know what you think you're doing.

Every (Kitty) Picture Tells a Story 2/20/20

This? Is not a photo of Olivia.

This? Is Cocoa, another one of Mom's cats.

She's pretty young--most likely between two and three years old--and is the closest to feral of all of Mom's cats.

She was tricked into coming into the house (with the offer of food as the lure) and had to be kept from running back out into the yard (which she managed to do a couple of times anyway, only to be lured back into the house later with the promise of food--stupid cat).

She's very skittish--will not be picked up or held, nor will she sit in your lap or come when called.

She will, however, sit on the back of the couch and allow herself to be petted. Her fur is, as you'd imagine, very soft.

And? She's absolutely devoted to Moose, for some reason. He seems indifferent to her attentions at best (and hostile at worst), yet she cuddles up with him whenever possible. They can often be found together in the cardboard box just outside the bathroom.

Every (Kitty) Picture Tells a Story 2/18/20

And now? "The Kitties of Mom's House, Part 1:

This is Moose. He's one of Mom's cats. And easily the largest of Mom's cats--he weights somewhere between 15 and 20 lbs. And none of that is fat.

He's an old fellow--note the gray/white hairs in his muzzle--but he hasn't slowed down with age. He still chases the other cats around the house, especially Lincoln, the youngest (and other male) cat.

He also stands outside Mom's bedroom door and yowls for her attention--usually he just wants to be fed, but sometimes he just wants someone to come out and play with him. I accommodate him as much as possible, but I'm not home much of the day, and Mom spends most of her time in the bedroom with her door closed.

Sometimes, because Mom moves so slowly these days, Moose makes a mad dash into her bedroom, usually late at night. This leads me to be treated to Mom yelling at him over and over ("Moose...MOOSE...MOOSE!") until I get up and shag him out of her bedroom myself. Then I try (try) to go back to sleep--if, in fact, I'd been asleep at all. (And considering that I'm still sleeping on Mom's living room couch...yeah, no.)