March 16th 2012 12:30 am
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Another year passed. I would have been 21 this year. At this time last year I was saying that Mom, Keshy and the medicines were losing the battle against her UTI and the asthma. I guess my birthday every year going forward is going to be overshadowed because Keshy went to the Bridge the day after my birthday.
Well she’s here with me now. This isn’t exactly what I would have wished for my birthday. Our ashes are sitting next to each other on Mom’s bookshelf too.
Mom was digging through the cabinets and found my stuff just today. Funny, she could never bring herself to part with it. She just made the decision to either use the two (mock) crystal bowls I used for my food and water or to get rid of them. She also found the apple bitters she put on Keshy to keep me from having my way with her. Those apple bitters are almost 14 years old now, Mom. Time to get rid of them!
We’re still trying to figure out if it’s that Mom forms an emotional attachment to things because of the memories they invoke or if she just thinks ‘what if I need it again?’ At least Cappuccino and B.A.’s bowls aren’t there anymore. My bowls were much better ones. Who is she kidding?? Except for the one water bowl she won’t use them again—too many memories. That makes the stuff hard to part with, doesn’t it?
But it’s my birthday, what am I talking about? Happy Birthday to me! I spent the day celebrating with the other angels while Mom spent the day thinking about some of the things I used to do. All in all, it wasn’t a bad day.
Thanks for stopping by my page.
Smokey Joe and Family for the pretty rainbow
Molly Angel for the wonderful top hat to match my tux. Green always looks wonderful with black and white—and the ice cream cake was positively divine.
Nala Sue (Angel) for the yummy shrimpie.
Monster for the Blue Ribbon.
Family of Bella and Orange Ruffy for the lucky four-leaf clover.
Family of Big Harry and Patches for the beautiful heart.
Teebo, Callie and Rose for the Pink Ribbon—my Marrakech’s favorite color!
Griswold for the lucky four-leaf clover. (Man, you are getting big!)
Monida for the pretty heart.
And thanks for the p-mails:
Tabbie O’Trout Towne - I love “cake, pie, pork chops, burgers, ham samiches, sghetti, tunie on hole wheet and oh course...trout..., flounder, bass, perch AND mackerel”. Good thing I’ve got a hearty appetite, ‘cause I’ll have them all! MOL
Pipo and Minko for the card with the piano-playing Catereoke dude!
November 23rd 2011 11:52 pm
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Thank you all for a stopping by to remember me. It’s been a few days since my bridge day and Mom got busy and then today, she had a humdinger of a migraine. So we’re late in saying thank you.
Watching the goings on at home is sure amusing. Since Keshy died, Samsara has started driving Mom crazy. MOL! She wasn’t that demanding while I was there! And, the lucky little rat, since Colette took over the sofa, she’s been trying to figure out a way to get sofa time too. (Mom never let any of us, except for Colette, on that sofa. Colette was finally allowed to go there when Keshy and Samsara wouldn’t let her go on the bed. Mom still doesn’t want her there because Samsara has always been a messy barfer. She lets it roll where ever she happens to be. If Colette has to barf she usually makes it to the wood floor and does it there. )
Mom would have let her get away with it in exchange for a photo the other day. When Mom came out of the bedroom, there was Colette in her usual spot (Mom’s spot) on the sofa—except it looked like she had two heads! The second head was growing out of Colette’s hip. The rest of Samsara was hidden behind one of the cushions! Samsara saw Mom heading for the camera and jumped down before Mom could take the picture. Better luck next time (and there will be a next time), Mom.
Thank you for all the lovely gifts you left for me and Mom:
Nakita for the Angel Star
Tabbies (o’ Trout Towne) for the Rainbow Star
Smokey Joe, Milo, Mallee, and Sam for the pretty Crown
Anonymous (who sounds suspiciously like Nuk) for the Angel Star
Monida for the Rainbow
Tink and Snowfor the Rainbow
Family of Skylar, Mrs. Murphy and Rusty Dreamboat for the Rainbow
Monster for the Heart
Finney, Lacey & (Angel) Alex for the Rainbow
Big Harry, (Angel) Abigail, Patches and Zach for the Adopt a Pet Ribbon
Family of Kitty Pryde, Indiana, and Harrison for the Heart
Sofie and Family for the Heart
Scooter and Family for the Heart
Family of Adam Dylan and Eve Layla for the Heart
Felix Honey Angel for the Blue Ribbon
Family of Zoe Autumn Sunshine and Zach Frost for the Heart
Family of Pinky, Biggles, and Nonny for the Rainbow
Simon and Reuben for the Rainbow with the greeting card inside
Family of Alex, Annie Angelpants and Bugsy for the Rainbow
Family of River and Simone for the Heart
Family of Bella, Orange Ruffy, Smokie-boo, Natalie the NatCat for the Brussel Ball
Tabbies (o’ Trout Towne) for the Pumpkin Pie to wish me a happy Thanksgiving
November 17th 2011 11:16 pm
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What to say… time goes by and while the love stays, the memories grow more dim.
I miss him. What a cat! He loved people; he loved being with you and loved helping (hindering) with anything you were doing.
I just spent the day remembering little incidents—snippets of stories, really.
The very first weekend when my friend and I brought him home to her house as a tiny little kitten, her (now ex-) husband, Jack, claimed he was allergic to cats, and didn’t want Misha in the house because of their small children. At that time, their youngest was 6 months and the oldest was 3 years. Jack thought that animals were dirty and carried germs. I’m still willing to bet that Jack hated cats and that the kids carried more germs than 12-week-old Misha. But, anyway, we found a rather tall box for Misha, and he spent his first night with us in the box in their garage. Or so we thought. When we got up in the morning I went to attend to him—he wasn’t there. I found him, unhurt, emitting rapid-fire staccato cries—eh, eh, eh, eh, eh—from the bottom of their empty steel trash can. How he got there was anyone’s guess. I came that close, then, to accusing Jack of having put him there. Fourteen years on, I’m not so sure that Misha didn’t get there all by himself, knowing his penchant for mischief.
Home, not too long afterwards, he found the toilet paper. I looked up in time to see him proudly carrying the end of the roll in his mouth, head up, tail proudly in the air, and toilet paper flag unfurling behind him.
Toys? Not in a conventional sense. He loved to carry around the leash the vet gave us, and he loved anything he could turn into a hockey puck like there was no tomorrow. No small round object dropped inadvertently escaped his notice. He was off with it in a flash—bottle caps, coins, buttons, subway tokens.
He loved his Marrakech. He picked her as his mate, in every sense of the word, from the first week he spent with her and was hers for the rest of his life. I swore at the time that Marrakech wasn’t mine, she was Misha’s. It wasn’t until after Misha went to the bridge that Keshy became so deeply attached to me. She was still a baby when he started mounting her. My vet solved the problem by suggesting I put apple bitters between her shoulder blades. It didn’t deter him for very long, but the first time he tasted the apple bitters I laughed so hard. He had the funniest look on his face: “Gee, I don’t remember her tasting that bad the last time!”
A favorite game of his was to walk everyone to the door as they were leaving. When an unsuspecting neighbor had their door open, I thanked my lucky stars the building was small and I knew almost all of them. I had to fish him out of their apartments. He also liked nothing better than leading me on a wild goose chase three flights up or down. Usually, he went up the stairs—I always had to collect him at the doorway to the roof.
One time he never made it that far. The people in the apartment directly above mine had decorated their door with Christmas gift wrap and a large bow. By the time I caught up with him he was hurling his body at the door. Whap, whap, whap. I didn’t yet know that neighbor.
I’ve mentioned elsewhere how his trip to a vet to have him fixed caused major psychological problems every time I needed to take him. We tried medicating him with phenobarbital before I would bring him in. It didn’t do much good. In later years, the vet wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see her. To be fair, the vet didn’t want to stress him any further than was absolutely necessary.
I phoned her the day Misha got one of his claws embedded in his pad. She taught me how to perform the extraction over the phone. I took him into the bathroom, shut the door, and put him in my lap. I turned him on his back and braced myself for the worst. The worst never happened. I shook like a leaf while Misha calmly let me do what I needed to do. Wow!
As, Finney or Lacey might say, he was a ‘pain in the behind’, but what a lovable, loving character he was! Misha is gone but the love and the stories remain. I am truly blessed to have been able to have spent fourteen years of my life with this incredible creature.
Misha, I love you.