On September 23, 2000, Mike and I went to the Tucson Humane Society and came home with a cat.  He was the only cat we held while we were there, although we’d looked at several, including some totally adorable kittens.  But I was in school and Mike was working full time, and we didn’t have the hours to devote to a kitten, so I urged choosing an adult cat, and I rather liked the look of one in a top tier cage of the cat room.  He was enormous and handsome and coal black and mellow and friendly.  The Humane Society chick said he’d been abandoned by his family and had been brought in by a neighbor.  They estimated his age at 4 years old.  He came into our custody with the ridiculous name Leo, but we soon rechristened him Peligro which, as many of you may remember from Sesame Street, is Spanish for “danger”.  Not that we ever actually used his name except to fill out paperwork at vets’ offices and in reply to the question, “what’s his name?”  Mostly we called him Sir or Cat.  He was a phenomenal cat from the get-go.  He was chatty and cuddly and easy to care for.  He never peed on the furniture, and he always cooperated when we clipped his front claws.  Friends would come over to hang out with him as much as they’d come by to see us.  We’d all play tag together; the cat had designated his scratching post as Base—like, he’d race over there, stand on his back legs, wrap his front legs around the post and look back over at us as if to say, “haha neener, you can’t get me now!”  He was the subject of many photographs, most of which aren’t owned by us because we didn’t even have a camera until we got married in 2002.  I wish I could find some of the pictures where he was walking on the treadmill.  Because he used to do that.  Regularly.  We’d turn it on at, like, .6 mph, and he’d hop right up onto the deck and just start cruising.  He’d stay on for speeds of up to 1 mph, but then he’d find it inconvenient and he’d jump back off.  It was awesome.He liked to play fetch with little balls of crumpled up aluminum foil.  Or sometimes he just used them to engage in a form of demented single-player feline soccer that always made for hilarious viewing.When I was pregnant with Kavita he would curl up on or against my belly in a protective way, and he was forever herding me back to bed to get more rest.When I was depressed he’d perch on my chest—all 18 pounds of him—and he’d gently touch my face.  He was marvelously healthy, save for some kinda grody dandruff, for all the years we lived with him.  And then a week ago he stopped eating.  And then he stopped drinking.  And then his rear legs stopped working so well.  And his fur became greasy and matted, and the dandruff increased, and he did little other than sprawl out in odd places and cry pitifully.  And last night we knew it was time, so we took him to the vet.  And we said goodbye.  And we went back to a house that’s seemed so strange and so empty now that he’s gone.We’re not getting another cat.  We already had the best one.  For nearly a third of our lives he was our constant companion.  We were so lucky.  He will always be missed.

On September 23, 2000, Mike and I went to the Tucson Humane Society and came home with a cat.  He was the only cat we held while we were there, although we’d looked at several, including some totally adorable kittens.  But I was in school and Mike was working full time, and we didn’t have the hours to devote to a kitten, so I urged choosing an adult cat, and I rather liked the look of one in a top tier cage of the cat room.  He was enormous and handsome and coal black and mellow and friendly.  The Humane Society chick said he’d been abandoned by his family and had been brought in by a neighbor.  They estimated his age at 4 years old.  He came into our custody with the ridiculous name Leo, but we soon rechristened him Peligro which, as many of you may remember from Sesame Street, is Spanish for “danger”.  Not that we ever actually used his name except to fill out paperwork at vets’ offices and in reply to the question, “what’s his name?”  Mostly we called him Sir or Cat.  

He was a phenomenal cat from the get-go.  He was chatty and cuddly and easy to care for.  He never peed on the furniture, and he always cooperated when we clipped his front claws.  Friends would come over to hang out with him as much as they’d come by to see us.  We’d all play tag together; the cat had designated his scratching post as Base—like, he’d race over there, stand on his back legs, wrap his front legs around the post and look back over at us as if to say, “haha neener, you can’t get me now!”  

He was the subject of many photographs, most of which aren’t owned by us because we didn’t even have a camera until we got married in 2002.  I wish I could find some of the pictures where he was walking on the treadmill.  Because he used to do that.  Regularly.  We’d turn it on at, like, .6 mph, and he’d hop right up onto the deck and just start cruising.  He’d stay on for speeds of up to 1 mph, but then he’d find it inconvenient and he’d jump back off.  It was awesome.

He liked to play fetch with little balls of crumpled up aluminum foil.  Or sometimes he just used them to engage in a form of demented single-player feline soccer that always made for hilarious viewing.

When I was pregnant with Kavita he would curl up on or against my belly in a protective way, and he was forever herding me back to bed to get more rest.

When I was depressed he’d perch on my chest—all 18 pounds of him—and he’d gently touch my face.  

He was marvelously healthy, save for some kinda grody dandruff, for all the years we lived with him.  And then a week ago he stopped eating.  And then he stopped drinking.  And then his rear legs stopped working so well.  And his fur became greasy and matted, and the dandruff increased, and he did little other than sprawl out in odd places and cry pitifully.  And last night we knew it was time, so we took him to the vet.  And we said goodbye.  And we went back to a house that’s seemed so strange and so empty now that he’s gone.

We’re not getting another cat.  We already had the best one.  For nearly a third of our lives he was our constant companion.  We were so lucky.  He will always be missed.

  1. anindependentguinevere said: Adrien, I am so sorry.
  2. barefootfussy said: I am so sorry sweet girl. X
  3. embracethelost said: I’m so sorry… :-(
  4. sblaufuss said: Aw :( He sounds wonderful, and he was lucky to have you.
  5. redmenice reblogged this from apricotica and added:
    It’s so hard losing an amazing friend.
  6. aroseblossoming said: What a wonderful post to remember him. I’m so sorry that you guys lost him. Love you.
  7. kristynibbles said: I’m so sorry honey. Such a beautiful story of remembrance. Sending love xo
  8. themisscoco said: So sorry…My hat goes off to Sir Cat! <3 <3
  9. lmcg-e said: I am so sorry.
  10. dannisaur said: so sorry to hear about what sounds like a fantastic part of your family. I know how tough it can be.
  11. ladameblanc said: He was pretty awesome. I still mis my cat but am not allowed one for a while. Otherwise I’d be bitching about a kitten right now. I’m sorry it was time for yours to leave as well.
  12. stupon said: I’m sorry for your loss, he sounded like an awesome cat.
  13. raiselm said: So sorry to hear this. It’s just awful when you lose a pet.
  14. braincooksidea said: I’m so sorry.
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