…and then the old cat went missing.
He’s gone missing. It’s not like him to be gone for days at a time. I knew when we moved here that he would some day disappear. Too many factors to consider. He has survived all the feral cat attacks, and the coyotes and coons, until now. He hasn’t been home in three days. I don’t feel him anywhere. It’s sad. And yet, that cat had the best of everything, and always a vet when he needed one, and his own garage to patrol at night, and a very full life at about 17 years. He was pretty sassy and held his own with the dogs, who would bounce him occasionally. He gave ’em a snag her and there. Taught my daughter’s dog about cats by sinking his claws deep into her nose the first time she tried to mess with him. She backed off and shook her head, her eyes watering. Cats are sharp.
I loved this cat. He was a classic tiger cat, independent as could be. We had an arrangement. I fed him, rescued him when necessary, and he kept the mice to a minimum. He was also known to leave the pants section of a lizard here and there. A snack for me, I suppose. He would come into the house on cold nights in the winter and sleep curled up by the fire, a yawn and stretch in the morning and back to work. He was quick and rarely missed his target. He was impressive. I miss him. I doubt I will ever know what has happened to him. He was getting a bit blind and he got pretty skinny last winter, despite the canned food and fish he enjoyed on his perch in the garage. William. Will for short. The little Wm. on his head etched in cat stripes. He would scratch you in a heartbeat if you messed with him. You would ways want to know where that clawed right foot was when you rubbed him the wrong way. He was very discriminating when he snagged you, too. Just letting you know he knew exactly how to put that hook into the top of your hand. Look you right in the eye as he did it, too. He was in charge of the relationship from the beginning. Liked my lap on a cold morning in the yard with a cup of coffee. Scratched the leather sofa a few times when I wasn’t looking, and got me in trouble with my husband, who is allergic to cats. Or so he says. I’ve seen him pet the rowdy cat, and put him out without ceremony once in awhile when Wm. got in the house without permission. Ed was fearless handling him. I had learned the hard way about picking him up when he was bent on that piece of fish skin in the dogs bowl. Cats are fast, and sharp.
Sure going to miss him. Thanks for gracing my life, Willie Kitty.