You came to me in 1998, when my niece (now a senior in high school) was still a toddler. In fact, I have photos of you and her both at your early age. It’s rather cute, actually.
It was late July 1998 and you were probably about six weeks old or so. You licked your chops. You meowed. You found a home that you could call yours. And boy did you. You owned it. You patrolled it like nobody else could be in it.
Your colors were lovely, a striking calico who always kept yourself groomed and in pristine look.
Like other cats, you slept a lot. And you ate. But you ran around and enjoyed life. You loafed and you sped around, almost like you were being chased. You had so many secret places to sleep, it was hard to keep track of where you were. Of course, as you got older, some of the “upper” spots you may have jumped to as a kitten weren’t as easily accessed.
Strictly an indoor cat, you never seemed to care about getting outside. In fact, in times when you could have ran, you’d just wander out on the porch to maybe soak up some sun, before wandering back inside to the safe confines of your home.
Speaking of sun, you could seem to find every patch of sun possible. Even if it was just a sliver, you’d plop yourself down and let it warm you all over.
Some of the habits you had were odd, such as drinking out of a flower watering pot instead of your own water dish. There was a reason, at times, you were called “dummy.” As you grew older, you became used to having your dinner at a certain time. And you’d sit near your bow or meow until you got your food.
Originally names after the beer I enjoyed most at that time, it seems like a fitting tribute for me to work on a couple of home brews to make and name them in your honor.
You didn’t like the camera, but living through the digital age with somebody who takes a lot of photographs, you were a subject often enough. You seemed to like it as a kitten, when I was still in the film age, but if I pointed a camera at you, you’d often turn away or walk away. I still managed to get many good photos of you, which I’m obviously happy about.
I never did get that picture of you yawning, despite trying hard to do so for many years. I came close several times, but never had the camera up when I needed it most.
There’s a lot I will miss, that’s for sure.
Such as you meowing when you wanted attention, or more often, when you wanted food. I’ll miss walking by your favorite sitting/laying down spots and not seeing you there. I’ll miss watching you just flop on the floor and being queen of the home.
I keep walking past those spots, hoping to see you. Or I keep hoping you’ll come around a corner, hop up on a chair and curl up. There’s that one teddy bear on a lonely chair that you used to hop up on to see you snuggle with the bear. It won’t be the same not seeing you there.
I know it’s been less than a week, but every once in a while, I’ll hear a creak or a noise – something that seemed to be associated with you coming from somewhere – and I look around hoping to see you enter with that meow.
Owning a pet is a wonderful thing. Watching them go is one of the hardest things people can deal with, especially when you’ve had a pet for so long. It wasn’t the easiest thing to say goodbye to you, Molson. But you weren’t yourself anymore and I think you were ready. You said goodbye in your own way and you didn’t have to spend your final days at the Vet, rather at home, where you belonged.
The ending was hard as it is with human or animals who are so close to you. But soon enough those feelings will ease to the memories of all the good years you had and gave people. You will, however, be extremely missed and remembered fondly.
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