 |
In Memory
On November 22, 2001 (that's Thanksgiving Day, if you want to look it up), my beloved friend and companion of 6 years, Scratchy,
was killed by a car. He was and always had been an indoor/outdoor cat, with all the risks that implies, but I did my best
to keep him healthy, happy, and most important of all, loved. Oh, dear lord, he was loved.
He was young - 6 or 7
years old - and was taken from me too soon, before I was ready for it. Burying him was the hardest thing I've ever had to
do. Even now it seems so unreal, as though someone else's cat had been hit, and someone else's cat was resting in my backyard.
But it wasn't someone else's cat. It was mine.
God bless you and keep you, my dear, dear friend. I pray that we
are reunited with our animal companions when the time comes.
|
|
|
|
Scratchy
I have one pet, a cat. After years of struggling with the fact that he'd just shown up one day and was never hand-picked,
I realized that he was mine when I agreed to pay $1400 for a surgery that would save his life.
As you can see, Scratchy
is... black. All black. I told friends who kept insisting that I get a cat that I would NOT go out seeking any pet, ever,
but if an incredibly mellow, all-black cat decided to show up one day, then fine, I'd consider it.
One day an incredibly
mellow, all-black cat showed up and decided that he preferred my quiet, non-hectic life better than his current crowded and
noisy domicile. But it still took me over a year to call him anything other than "That cat that keeps coming into my
apartment."
I called him Scratchy because it's what he likes and what he does, all the time. Any relation to
Scratchy of Itchy and Scratchy is purely coincidental.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
More on the cat
Scratchy's hobbies include chillin', eatin', meowing constantly, and trying to occupy the same space that my legs are taking
up.
Although very mellow, he does freak when in my car.
If I grab the back of his neck, he drops
to the ground as if waiting for his mama to carry him around.
For some reason he's uncomfortable around bearded
men. I don't think he used to live with an abusive bearded man, since the only family I ever saw him with consisted of an
unhappy, poor woman with 4 unhappy, poor kids. Neither the woman nor her children had beards.
|
|
|
|
