... This morning when I stepped outside, I immediately noticed a dead mousy-wouse in front of the grill, courtesy of Boomer The Cat. I guess he saw me cooking burgers last night and wanted his done medium-rare ....
Then I got distracted in the garden and must have accidentally stepped on mouse, because when I looked back, it was convulsing and its guts were oozing out and it was all really gross.
Since I didn't know that mouse well, I decided to compose an obituary (com-post an o-blog-uary?) for the cat instead. He's middle-aged and healthy, but you gotta be ready for the inevitable and have pieces like this on file ....
Boomer was born in unknown but humble circumstances in Pennsylvania in April 2002 and was given to Husband's parents by H's veterinarian cousin. He was named by Mother-in-Law, who suffered from Alzheimer's and may have thought he was her childhood pet, Boomer The Dog. This turned out Ok, though, since he never barked nor showed any signs of identity confusion ....
I usually shorten his name to Boo, since I don't want folks to think I'm either totally without imagination or into psychedelic mushrooms ....
Boo hates being photographed, and whenever I try he gives me the Evil Eye Death Stare Glare, which is not a flattering look for him, which he knows I know and will therefore just give up. I did capture this shot one wicked hot afternoon when he reluctantly dragged himself inside and collapsed on the floor in uncharacteristically dramatic fashion. I think he was too hot to protest when I pulled out the camera ....
He was neutered, and remained indoors during his first few months of life, but eventually escaped Outside and decided he needed to go there regularly and kill things occasionally in order to be fulfilled. This is amazing considering he has a handicap: no lower canine fangs, only uppers -- don't know how many critters he has gummed to death at this point ....
He came to live with us in 2004 after In-Laws passed away. He quickly perceived that I was intelligent enough to communicate with him; thus began a rich, lasting relationship in which he tells me what he wants and I get it for him. And vice versa.
People who come to my house wonder why we have a ceramic pitcher filled with water on the floor next to the six varieties of cat food. No, it is not one of Husband's rocket science experiments. (You can tell because the pitcher doesn't have any gauges sticking out of it.) It's because Boo indicated he wanted to drink out of a tall vessel like a watering can or pitcher. So why shouldn't he?
... When I was a child, I insisted on wearing my burgundy leather cowgirl skirt with fringe and matching cuffs every single day one year, and my mom indulged me (it cut down on laundry by 20 percent). So if Boo wants to drink from a pitcher like a civilized cat, or even chow down on his Fancy Feast Shredded Turkey Fare with chopsticks, who am I to say no?
Boo knows two languages: English and Cat. He also knows some Cat dialects: Meow and Merp and Squeak and maybe more which I can't recognize. He can also read my mind.
Ok, Boomer has power over me.
I am irresistibly drawn to his adorable, fluffy softness, and whisper secret wishes into his ear which he grants as soon as circumstances allow. He has to be discreet ....
Boo is exceptionally smart, patient and also considerate. He picked up early on that we admire his soft, clean, fluffy coat. He grooms himself in private until he is as clean and soft as a newborn kitten, then makes himself available for petting. We appreciate that. We don't know where he's been.
Boo's career includes years of security work patrolling the perimeter of the property and dispatching vermin. He also took up gardening in recent years -- most notably pruning the catnip. Some of Boo's hobbies are tormenting chipmunks, snagging fowl-looking toys while hiding behind chair legs, and avoiding people who visit us. His favorite past-time is sneaking up and scaring the crap out of you. That's proof right there he knows his nickname ....
He also excels at giving emotional support and enjoys being part of the family.
Many humans would like to be his friend; few have succeeded. So although when he does croak it may not be SRO at his funeral, I'll be too distraught/sedated to even notice/care (although flowers would be a nice gesture).
I don't know what I will do should our powerful witch-and-familiar bond break. Because it is a two-way street. A symbiotic relationship where I am the rhino and Boo is the bird picking insects off my back. Actually, I'd rather not be the rhino, so maybe Boo could be the rhino while I am the bird. Although that might make Boo the witch and me the familiar ....
Not sure, and about to have an identity crisis, but it's Boo's funeral so to wrap up the premature eulogy:
Boo delivers. Ideally, Boo and I will both have long, equal lifespans. Barring that, I hope our bond will last beyond life.
Otherwise, if I'm left behind I'm afraid I might be easy pickings for all the warlocks and vampires out there cruising for some grief-distracted human to be their new familiar -- in which case that mouse might be looking a bit more appetizing ....
Eeeeeeeeewwwwwwww .....
Meowwwwwwwwwww .....
I'm so confused .....
Pass it along, and remember it's all (c)opyrighted(c)2011(c)(c)
No comments:
Post a Comment