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.
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We missed your bridge day yesterday - got involved with coordinating vet visit and shop business. But we enjoyed reading your story just now. Sometimes it's the troublemakers who are the most endearing - like me, for instance! :)
this bee a total lee pawsum dia ree entry buddy; N one werth savin for sure; its nice yur mom can remember all this stuff for ya buddy...tell her a shutterfly book with pictures and text should be loomin on de horizon....
hope ya had a good time fishin....eye dunno how eye ended up with a halibutt in de pail but heez goin bak ta day for sure....
You sure were an amazing kitty!m How you worked at it all of your life to make sure you nevfur were furgotten! MOL!
Some of your antics reminded meowmy of Simba and Toki, they were the naughtiest of the lot of us...Memories are so great when they can be recorded like this, your furmily will always remember you and others can share in them, too.
Pipo, Minko & Meowmy
I'm sorry we missed your bridge day. Thank you for sharing those wonderful stories. Misha will always live on in your heart.
In your family's memories you will always live on. Quite an impression you have left on your Mom. You sound like quite a character.
what a great gift this thing called 'love' is - blind to species and looks & neverending... and the best is: it makes us smile only from memories. thanks for sharing!
I loved getting to read these stories!
Goodness, Mom read your diary and was laughing and crying at the same time. What lovely stories! Every one of them brought back a memory from one of her own cats. You were a character, Misha!