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.
July 4th 2011 12:18 pm
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Wow. It’s my gotcha day again; another year gone by! Where did it go?
Mom almost forgot it was my day today, but it didn’t keep her from remembering me to a new friend who didn’t know me back then. The topic was about a sticking point--how hard it was for her friend to walk into the kitchen and cook a meal because of memories. Her new friend lost her husband several years ago and while he was alive, cooking meals together was one of their favorite things to do.
Funny how lovely memories center on food. Mom told her friend about how hard it was to cook anything that involved shaving carrots for several years after she lost me. Mom would always call, “Misha….eetchy carrots”. Wow! Eetchy carrots! I loved rolling around in the shavings!
Mom was also saying to another friend how B&W Tuxedo Kitty boys are the best. We’re such characters and so full of mischief. She loves the girls, but she says it’s not the same.
Food memories aside, it’s my Gotcha Day. So many things one forgets because they happen every day; we have lots of those. We were afraid we wouldn’t have anything new to tell. That’s not true.
I know we sort of mentioned my gotcha day on my profile page. I guess it’s a good a time to elaborate on it. How and why does any human go about ‘getting’ a child, any child, fur suit or not? We like to quip that I was an accident. I really was. Mom hadn’t planned on getting me and she certainly knew she didn’t have enough room for the four of us in her tiny studio apartment (three of us ‘kittehs’ and her).
It was this weekend, 20 years ago, when she and her childhood friend, my Aunt Lori, got together in Milville, New Jersey. Lori moved away as a teenager and still lives there now. Milville is a 3 hour trip from Manhattan by bus and it’s a trip Mom hates more than anything. For her it means traveling into Manhattan on the subway for an hour (praying all the way there are no delays ‘cause she would miss the bus) and then being stuck on the stupid bus until she felt like she couldn’t sit anymore. For those of you familiar with the area, you’ll know that Milville is about an hour out of Philadelphia, PA by car. Getting to Philadelphia on Amtrack takes half the time it takes by bus. So when Lori offered to pick Mom up from the Philly train station, she jumped at the chance.
That day, Lori had a few hours before she needed to pick up her kids from the baby sitter and did Mom want to take a look inside Market Street Mall? Sure, why not? There was a pet store in the mall at the time. They made the mistake of walking past. They had a bunch of kittens in the window; me, the only black and white, and my orangey and tabby sisfurs and brofurs. I saw them standing there pointing and then they went into the store.
The next thing I knew, one of the ladies was standing there asking the pet store employee if she could ‘pway wif the wittle bwack and white one.’ I’m not making this up—it’s exactly what she said, and then I was in her arms. And you know what? I really liked her! She kissed my forehead and I stroked her face with my paw. I didn’t even have time to say goodbye to my fursibs because they put me in a cardboard box not much bigger than the package you get when you buy a McDonald’s Happy Meal and we were on our way to the cash register.
Why me and not any of my fursibs? Above all, Mom never met brofurs B.A. and Cappuccino as tiny little kittens and she says I reminded her of what they must have looked like. (Yeah, right! Giggles. I knew how to charm the ladies even back then!) And, how much was that ‘kitteh’ in the window’? $30 dollars: a bargain for a lifetime of happiness.
You know, I would have been 20 years old this year? You should see Lori’s kids now!
April 20th 2011 10:06 pm
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What a month! Mom says that her mind is a terrible thing to waste.
Okay, what now? With all the goings-on with my baby, Marrakech, she made note of who gave us which gifts for effuryone but me! :~( Moooom! You forgot about me!!!!
We wanted to thank effuryone for the presents you all left for my birthday, found out that they aren’t on my page anymore because they expired after a month, and that we have no record of them.
Mom’s Catster folder in her e-mail blew up twice in the past month right after our computer came out of sleep mode. Poof! The only trace of the folder was in the rules that Outlook no longer honored since the original folder they were made for no longer existed. You should see how careful Mom is now about not leaving Outlook open when she walks away from the computer! That seems to have solved the problem.
Thank you all. And, we are so awfully sorry and embarrassed that we can’t thank you each purrsonally. Please forgive us and know that we really treasure each of you as our furriends.
March 15th 2011 9:49 pm
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Not a fun day at the bridge watching the goings on at home. It’s been over 72 hours and my Marrakech hasn’t eaten anything. She peed on Mom again tonight when Mom tried to administer her inhaler treatment—and that without much of a visible struggle. And my baby is wheezing more and starting to puff out the sides of her mouth when she tries to breathe.
I heard Mom on the phone tonight with her friends. Next to me, Mom was what Marrakech loved most in the world, and now Marrakech barely has the strength to look at her. And, from what I can see, everything Mom tries to do for her ends up being pure torture.
Mom and the medicines are losing ground. I don’t want to see her up here with me so soon, but I’m afraid it’s going to be a decision that Mom is going to have to make tomorrow. Both my baby and Mom look terribly tired and worn. I’m afraid the prognosis doesn’t look good.
For what it’s worth, I’m sprinkling lots of angel dust tonight and purring very hard for both of them.
November 18th 2010 11:59 am
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Thank you all so much for remembering my Bridge Day yesterday.
While Mom and I aren’t physically there for each other anymore, it’s so nice to know that we have you. There were a couple of questions yesterday—whether I had anything to do with the snow in Canada and whether or not I visited Mom and was spilling a magazine to the floor no matter where she put it. Well… only my fur-dresser knows fur sure.
Seriously though, it is so lovely to know you care. Bridge Days are difficult times. Yesterday was my fifth such time. It becomes harder and harder to remember what it was like to have lived with each other on a day-to-day basis, but the one thing that remains is the memories of best times and the worst times (and of course, the memories of the idiosyncrasies).
Five years—it wasn’t such a bad Bridge Day for Mom. It’s still near enough to remember that it wasn’t all wine and roses, but far enough in the past that it has found a quieter, safer place. Don’t get me wrong, she still misses me, but the ache has gone and now she can smile when she remembers.
Thank you so much for:
The Rainbow Rosette – I can’t imagine a prettier place to play:
Muppet and Family
Milo & Family
Family of Chai Latte
Nicholai Dreamboat #24
Family of Teebo, Callie, & Rose
The Heart - The love that sets me free to play:
Family of Scooter, SooLing, Lola, Beepers and Ashlynne
The Pilgrim Hat - While I have (probably) gone in my lifetime where Angels fear to tread and I’m sure that this hat will aid my quest at the Bridge:
Family of Steinem, Charley Bleu Eyes, Winnie & Tia Sydibil
And what better way to embark on such a journey than with food.
The Tiny Turkey:
Family of Adam Dylan – Tiny Turkey
The Turkey Drumstick:
The Pumpkin Pie:
Family of River, Simone & More – Pumpkin Pie
And, of course, cleanliness is next to catliness.
The Spot Bot:
And thank you so much for your kind comments and p-mails. Each and every one of them is cherished:
Simon & Reuben
Pipo and Minko
World’s Coolest Ishtar
Little One and Family
Purrs & headbonks...
November 17th 2010 12:41 pm
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This is Misha’s Mom. Since last night I’ve been sitting here thinking about what to say about Misha and the life we spent together. How to convey the love? How to honor his life? By now you know many of the highlights of our life together, so there’s clearly no need to repeat them.
While each of our kitties is special and unique, I truly believe that they ‘broke the mold’ when they made Misha.
What a character. As I mentioned on his profile page, he had an unprintable nickname. (It’s nothing horrible, but still unprintable by Catster standards.) Sometimes it was a middle name, used much the same way as your peeps would when calling your unfurbros or unfursises to let them know they’re in deep doo doo. Other times it was used as his first name (I’ll leave the tone of voice to your imagination.) No matter, he answered to it. He knew it was meant for him and that he had gotten my attention—exactly what he’d set out to do.
Sometimes his behavior was more like a dog than a cat. I’ll never forget the day he heard someone in the building hallway. His meows at the door, calling to whoever was out there, clearly resembled ‘yooo hooo’! Reality check…I practically had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
He had quite a sense of humor. The day my girlfriend came up to the apartment for coffee and conversation he wouldn’t leave her alone. Not by normal standards. No, that wasn’t the way he operated. He kept sneaking up on her and nipping her ankles under the table.
Misha had his own special definition for “Gotcha”. It was generally a right-hook to the pantyhose just at the point you were running out the door, late for work.
There’s one scene in the book “Marley and Me” where a damper gets put on love-making by doggy breath. Misha had his own version of that too. I won’t go into gory detail.
The one time my super-critical, conservative, brother-in-law came to the apartment, Misha gave him the royal treatment. (The worst part was that I so wanted to laugh out loud and couldn’t do it—it would have been acknowledging the man’s distress.) My brother-in-law hates cats. I lived in a studio apartment at the time, and that table on which you’ve seen Misha, B.A., and Samsara posing served as a study table and dining room table. There was no question in b-i-l’s mind that a cat should be on the floor, not on the table. That was also pretty much the only place in the apartment where you could sit and not be covered in fur, so he sat there. Misha was at him in a New York hot second—walking back and forth, rubbing his body along b-i-l’s face—torturing him. (After all, this wasn’t his apartment and you don’t criticize the way someone lives in their own home.)
Favorite toys? I can’t remember even one if you put the formal definition to the word. There’s a picture of Samsara as a kitten, looking up at an object dangling in front of her. That was Misha’s cloth leash. When Misha was a kitten he used to ride to the vet in a large shoulder bag. The bus would let us off a block away and Misha would climb out of the bag and ride on my shoulder, perched on it like a bird or a hood ornament, take your pick. I walked in to the vet’s office that way one day and the vet went nuts. She was sure he was going to run off, so she gave me the leash and made sure I knew how to tie it around his neck before I left. Misha finally got too big for the bag, but he used to carry the leash all over the house and we all played chase games with it. His other favorite was the inadvertently dropped bottle cap or subway token—anything that would roll. He ignored conventional toys.
Catnip: I won’t buy it. In a multi-cat household, I’ve always found they get violent (especially Misha). Eetchy carrots. When I called ‘eetchy carrots’, Misha would come to the kitchen, the same way you do when you your peeps call, ‘treats’. He wasn’t happy until I dropped a few shavings or a piece of carrot on the floor so that he could roll in them.
And now for the bad stuff. He must have woken up from being neutered in a lot of pain. That stayed with him for his entire life. He would become so distraught at a vet visit or a change of environment that he needed to be confined, sometimes for more than a week. He was that dangerous. And he was waaaay too smart, too big and too powerful to be that dangerous. How many times did I say to him, ‘please come out of it’…. ‘I don’t want to have to put you down, but if you don’t come out of it, I don’t know what else I can do’. Thankfully, he always did. When whatever it was snapped (I don’t use the word lightly), I have never heard (and never hope to hear again) as pitiful and heart-rending a wail. It was as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders and he was powerless to carry it.
And yet he was also the gentlest animal that ever lived. I was quipping with my sister in a bookstore, about a humorous novelty title we had just discovered: “How to Exercise With Your Cat”. The book illustrated how to use a cat for arm-lift exercises. I was betting that would be a great way to get shredded but I decided to make a go of it. (Hey, he would be a great 12-pound weight.) Mid arm-lift he looked at me as if to say “this is fun, but Ma, what are we doing?” Go figure.
Elsewhere I’ve referred to him as my Mensa Mafia-don. I truly believe that. He was a smart, charming joker. He was sweet, and he was dangerous. He was a challenge.
Misha, I am truly blessed to have known and loved you.
November 14th 2010 10:58 pm
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Mom and I were out enjoying yesterday’s unusually warm weather and we came back to find… (well she on her plane and me on mine, anyway). Wow! DDP again!
Thanks Diary Gal and thanks to effuryone who stopped by my page to congratulate me. If I’ve missed saying thank you to anyone, please forgive me. It would truly be an oversight and not an intended slight.
I just had a conversation with my pal, Buddie that reminded me and Mom of a song we used to enjoy during my lifetime.
Stray Cat Strut
Black and orange stray cat sittin' on a fence
Ain't got enough dough to pay the rent
I'm flat broke but I don't care
I strut right by with my tail in the air
Stray cat strut I'm a ladies cat
I'm a feline Casanova, hey man that's that
Get a shoe thrown at me from a mean old man
Get my dinner from a garbage can
(spoken) Meow. Yeah, don't cross my path!
I don't bother chasing mice around
I slink down the alley lookin' for a fight
Howlin' to the moonlight on a hot summer night
Singin' the blues while the lady cats cry
"Wild stray cat, you're a real gone guy"
I wish I could be as carefree and wild
But I got cat class and I got cat style.
Now the question is, is it a black and orange cat sitting on the fence, or are there 2 cats? And why?
November 10th 2010 11:53 pm
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Oh my catness, DOTD! What an honor!
At the time that I climbed that ladder that I’m sitting on in my picture, I never thought I would be elevated to such heights as sitting on the Community Homepage. I’m pawsitively giddy at the thought of it.
And, wouldn’t you know it, we took the day off from Catster because Mom needed to work on something called patter for an upcoming show. So just now we’re savoring all your lovely gifts and congratulations.
Thank you all and thank you Diary Gal. We will be thanking you all purrsonally as soon as we can.
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