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Goodbye, Old Gentleman
Sep. 25th, 2017 08:40 amLast night, our old gentlemen Mouse quietly slipped away from us. He had been going downhill rapidly in the last few weeks, and I knew he was tired. He was 18 years old, and he had been with us for longer than we have been married.
He moved with us, rode a plane to live here with us, and for those 18 years seemed indestructable. We teased him because he wasn't the brightest cat in the world, but he was constant and reliable. For the first couple of years of his life, we lived in tiny bedsits, and he spent a lot of time cooped up, but once we were in a place where he could safely roam, he went on a series of adventures, and had the time of his life.
Last night, we sat and reminisced over some of those. When we first got him, we were told he was female, and he spent the first six months of his life as Molly. When we realised he had un-Molly-ish bits, we started calling him Mouse, because of his long, skinny grey tail, and the name stuck.
When he was about five months old, he somehow managed to climb out of our skylight and ended up on the roof of our three-story apartment building, and we had to rent a ladder to get him down. He caught loads of mice, but would drop them and let them get away before he could show them off.
We lived near an elementary school, and every day we would see him greeting kids, and they always called him by name. He got bit by foxes and snakes and who knows what else, and he just kept on exploring.
He was never the cuddliest of cats; when we first laid eyes on him he was about 3 weeks old and he hissed at us, but we loved him anyway. When we were moving to the US, we even considered leaving him behind with Trev's mum. Now, I cannot imagine coming here without him.
He never fought with the others, even when they muscled him out of the way to eat from his food bowl. He would give us this long-suffering look, then wait until they were distracted, and eat the rest of theirs. He ate and drank with his paw, because he was a bit nearsighted, and woe betide anyone who left any kind of drink sitting where he could get to it. He especially loved a drop of coffee with cream and sugar.
One of my most enduring memories of him was when he was around two - we lived in a tiny top floor flat, and he had to stay in the bathroom at night. It was such a tiny space, and he didn't get to go out much. One day, Trev took him downstairs and let him play in the little patch of grass near the block of flats. I could actually hear him galloping up the stairs a little while later, and he raced into the flat over to me, and put his front paws up on the sofa beside me. His eyes were a big as saucers, and he gave me the biggest meow I've ever heard, like he was saying, "I've been outside! I got to go out and play!"
Little buddy, I will miss your grey fur balls everywhere, and your croaky morning meow.
I hope wherever you are there are lots of places for you to go 'sploring, and warm sunny days and you are as young and full of beans as you were in your prime. Farewell, Mousey.
.
He moved with us, rode a plane to live here with us, and for those 18 years seemed indestructable. We teased him because he wasn't the brightest cat in the world, but he was constant and reliable. For the first couple of years of his life, we lived in tiny bedsits, and he spent a lot of time cooped up, but once we were in a place where he could safely roam, he went on a series of adventures, and had the time of his life.
Last night, we sat and reminisced over some of those. When we first got him, we were told he was female, and he spent the first six months of his life as Molly. When we realised he had un-Molly-ish bits, we started calling him Mouse, because of his long, skinny grey tail, and the name stuck.
When he was about five months old, he somehow managed to climb out of our skylight and ended up on the roof of our three-story apartment building, and we had to rent a ladder to get him down. He caught loads of mice, but would drop them and let them get away before he could show them off.
We lived near an elementary school, and every day we would see him greeting kids, and they always called him by name. He got bit by foxes and snakes and who knows what else, and he just kept on exploring.
He was never the cuddliest of cats; when we first laid eyes on him he was about 3 weeks old and he hissed at us, but we loved him anyway. When we were moving to the US, we even considered leaving him behind with Trev's mum. Now, I cannot imagine coming here without him.
He never fought with the others, even when they muscled him out of the way to eat from his food bowl. He would give us this long-suffering look, then wait until they were distracted, and eat the rest of theirs. He ate and drank with his paw, because he was a bit nearsighted, and woe betide anyone who left any kind of drink sitting where he could get to it. He especially loved a drop of coffee with cream and sugar.
One of my most enduring memories of him was when he was around two - we lived in a tiny top floor flat, and he had to stay in the bathroom at night. It was such a tiny space, and he didn't get to go out much. One day, Trev took him downstairs and let him play in the little patch of grass near the block of flats. I could actually hear him galloping up the stairs a little while later, and he raced into the flat over to me, and put his front paws up on the sofa beside me. His eyes were a big as saucers, and he gave me the biggest meow I've ever heard, like he was saying, "I've been outside! I got to go out and play!"
Little buddy, I will miss your grey fur balls everywhere, and your croaky morning meow.
I hope wherever you are there are lots of places for you to go 'sploring, and warm sunny days and you are as young and full of beans as you were in your prime. Farewell, Mousey.
.
