A More Lighthearted Memorial

I can't leave it at yesterday's maudlin post. I don't apologize for it, but I need to post something lighthearted before I move on.

For example: this photo, which I find hilarious. Rocks was lame, but when he was younger at least, he gave it his all to keep up. One day, he decided to sport with one of the neighbourhood squirrels. However, it turned out that the squirrel actually sported with the cat. By the time this picture was taken, Rocky had totally given up the chase (smart cat) and was pretending to be disinterested in his former quarry and current tormentor, who was bold and cheeky enough to actually pause to look through our patio door. I think the squirrel could have had a cup of coffee.



Saint Paul (our Mr Fixit friend in Sarnia, Holmes twin more or less) had made a crutch for Tiny Rocks one Christmas, but for some reason it didn't travel to Ottawa with us (I have no idea why since everything else seemed to make the trip). So, SIL made him another one. You can't see the whole thing in this picture, but you can see Tiny Rocks (okay, not so tiny, but it was Christmas) posed proximate to the crutch. What fun!



He was a magical kitty who, believe it or not, could change size at will. Therefore, I always found it prudent to show utmost respect for this natural born predator, for I do not possess a squirrel's speed and agility. I think Lord Cat was saying, "Lower," at this point.




I mean to say, look at that size of that tongue compared to little old me. Yes, respect was warranted. And received, thank goodness.

Bye Buddy

There he is or was, Sir Rocky in his favourite spot on our bed — my side of course. His malformed paw is prominent. Once upon a time I had thought that the pain in that paw would become so bad that life for him would be problematic beyond ten years. But it never happened. He fooled us; despite much limping about, he never seemed to worry at it. Always seemed content with his lot.

After he came to stay with us when he was about five years old, he kept his distance from me for about a half year. He wasn't cowering or hightailing it, but he wasn't particularly friendly either. One fine summer day in the garden, that all changed, and I seemed to become his favourite human. In turn, he became my favourite cat — ever!







In eleven years together, we had a lot of good lap talks, The Rocks and I. In these last few years, in deference to his age, I frequently told him what a good cat he had been. He always seemed to agree.



But he had become sick this past month or more, throwing up almost every day, sometimes more than once. It was time to speak our last words.

He will be missed. Missed: helping me read and do puzzles. Missed: purring on my lap. Missed: helping with my computer tasks. Missed: his insistent pleas for his morning tuna — human tuna, if you please, Sir. Missed: his frequent calls for cat milk. Missed: his pesterings for human snacks — chips, cheesies, toast, and even bran muffins if you please.

He loved a good rump rub. After he had passed quietly this morning, the vet turned him on his side and left us alone for to say my final words. His eyes were open, and he looked as though he were positioned for another rump rub. He loved those rump rubs, but through my tears I was unable to comply.



His passing was pretty easy for him, but it was hard for me. So very hard. My final words weren't much more than sobs.

Bye Buddy. Thanks for listening through those eleven years. Right now, I wish we could have at least one more quiet talk. You and I.

Of Christmas, Cookies and Cats

As I mentioned yesterday, our Jewish DIL loves to decorate Christmas cookies, but I don't think the world has previously witnessed such dedication and artistry in said cookies. She sat at the kitchen table all afternoon in her pj's and created various thematic groups such as the very traditional Christmas symbols below: tree and snowman.



There is also a Jewish series ...



... and the blended Hanukkah-Christmas series, which apparently offers a brand new festive season called Chistmakuh.





Christmas, however, is family time, which must also be commemorated. Here are Buppa, Amma, Mom and Dad ...



... and the aunties and the children.



But what about Rocky? We couldn't leave him out. Could we? Before I reveal Mr Cat, however, let me tell you that he loves salty snacks, toast, bran muffins ... and cookies. Cuppa covered all Puff's artwork last night before we retired. One, however, was left peeking out from under the wax paper. Of all the dozens of cookies, guess which one was exposed for a feline lick-fest?



Did you guess right?

Cat as Teacher and Director

I am quite used to Rocky, the cat, leading me to the kitchen multiple times daily. Except for first thing in the morning when he is on his quest for breakfast — tuna (shudder) — his heart's desire is a dish of cat milk. He meows, twists and turns, imploring me to follow. Which I do — obediently.

Yesterday, however, he led me through to the kitchen toward the back door. I both thought and said,"No way, Buster, you're not going out." But that wasn't his intent, for I was quite baffled when he sidled into the living room with more mewing, twisting, turning and imploring.

Frankly, I was flummoxed. What did the blasted feline want now?

Cuppa speculated that he might want me to sit down, so that he could sit on my lap.

I did. He did. Much contented purring ensued.

Whenever my hand would cease its caressing, I would be reminded of Cat's expectations, by a long-suffering stare: "Hey guy, I'm still here. Let's get with the program." And I do.

Whithersoever I Goest

I guess we should have called the cat, Mee'un instead of Rocky, because wherever I am, the cat seems to be there too. You know, Mee'un the Cat? Maybe he thinks his name is Ruth and that mine is Naomi (see post title).

If I'm snuggled under a blanket watching tv on a cold winter's day, he is quite likely to hop on board, often looking at me longingly which is his way of pleading for scritching.



Frequently, I don't sleep well at night, but even when I've only had a few hours, I am unlikely to take a nap on the next day; and, when I do, I keep it short. However, when I did try to snooze a few days ago (below), he soon found me out. He'd like to sleep by my feet every night, but I shoo him over to the shorter-legged Cuppa's side.



He's a great help at the computer (next two photos), either prancing in front or settling off to the side a bit — of course the more in front and less to the side the better — from his point of view that is.





Rocky loves to have a foot rub — my foot doing the rubbing. He'll roll around like a fool in front of me many times during the day. Sometimes, he'll get a rub at the bottom of the stairs, and when I start up, he'll race ahead of me, throw himself on the landing, and wait expectantly for another rub.



The question is, "Does he enjoy it at all." I'm not sure. What do you think?



Although he prefers my foot at the back end, trusting soul that he is, he doesn't even mind when I put my foot on his throat.



If I sit in my den and read, there's a good chance that I'll have company. Sometimes, at night I'll curl up right there in the chair and attempt to go to sleep after reading, and he'll attempt to perch on my hip. How appropriate is the title of the book I am reading in the photo: A Royal Pain?




This is an odd thing though. Although I am usually the object of his devotion, in the morning, he must stay on guard until Cuppa awakes (below). When she is up first, however, he doesn't seem to care where I am or what I do. He certainly doesn't stand on guard until I get up. Strange.



When he first came to us from Thesha's, almost ten years ago, Rocky (aka Mee'un) wouldn't have much to do with me. That lasted from that October until the next summer. One day out in the garden, however, he came to see me for a visit. We chatted amiably and I scritched him while he rolled around all goofy-like, and this is how it has been ever since.

Note: We'll be away for a few more days, but unless I have been able to post something from the cottage (it has been known to happen), this is the final post that I have queued. Oddly enough, I don't usually post this regularly when I'm at home.

Speaking of Cats

... and Cuppa's paintings

... as I was in the previous post. Here is a painting that Cuppa did of our present feline, Rocky. He's a black and white, tuxedo cat turning sideways in the photo to sniff the pansies. Some people have trouble seeing it, but I think it's a great piece. Presently, this watercolour hangs in Thesha's house, while Rocky (formerly Thesha's cat) hangs about in our house.

Rocky is an old cat now — fourteen, we think — but he seems to be doing well. He's had deformed paw since birth, and he hobbles around on it, but he seems content with life. As far as cats go (and I think they go pretty durn fur), he's been a good one — about as good as they come. He will be missed someday. But I guess we all will be — we hope.