InsaneJournal

Current mood:	sad
Current music:	Criminal Minds

He was such a good cat.
Came home from the vet alone. (Well, LSO was with me.) I held him through the end, petting him and being there with him.

I'm still not ready to go into details. Just ... progression of what I've talked about the past few months.

Several of the vet techs came in to say good-bye to him - he'd charmed them all with his cooperativeness, friendliness, and gorgeous pet-able coat. The vet called him a great cat and noted how hard he'd fought against succumbing to his illness. And he really did fight, he held onto life so hard and was such a bright spirit.

He was sweet-tempered and strong-willed. So much not a lap-cat, he preferred to lay beside me - or on the ottoman between my feet if he wanted some cat-belly worship.

When my girl cats were still around, he took good care of them. He would jump in to play peace-maker when Piet would go after Gozzer. And he always made sure that I put out fresh food at the correct time (necessary since I'm kinda absent-minded), which he'd then taste before heading off to let them eat in peace before he'd come back for his portion.

He loved corn-on-the-cob and would demand his share when we had it. I once looked over a cob I was taking a bite out of to find a big pink kitty mouth diving in for a bite from the other side! I used to leave bits of corn on my cob, then put it in a big plate and set it on the floor for him to gnaw on. He would go after those corn cobs the way a dog goes after a big meaty bone. Often, he'd end up with one paw planted on the cob to hold it in place while he chewed and pulled corn from it.

He liked company when he ate, though we didn't really realize that until he became the only cat in the house since the company of another cat was enough. As he became ill and his appetite became a bit iffy,  and because my kitchen isn't really set up as a place to hang out, he was thrilled that I started taking his bowl into the living room so he'd have company while he was eating.

He had a voracious/compulsive appetite for PLANTS. Not just actual living plants, but plants made from plastic, silk, paper, whatever! I remember LSO taking some flower arranging courses at the local community college many years ago. She'd stop down in my apartment (before heading upstairs to hers) to show me her latest classroom creation. She'd be standing in front of me talking about class while holding the arrangement, waving it around as she gestured to illustrate or emphasize her words. And Max would be poised at her feet, stretching up or crouching down, occasionally making a jump for it as the arrangement moved - and she'd be totally oblivious until I couldn't hold in the laughter anymore.

I also remember one Christmas soon after I'd moved back from Florida. I generally don't decorate for the holiday and LSO decided to hang a big (fake) poinsettia wreath on the inside of my big front picture window. And how we then both watched, with that horrified train-wreck-in-progress feeling, as Max climbed to one back corner of a living room chair and launched himself up towards the wreathe. And the middle of the picture window. And the sharp-edged metal radiator cover, with a six-inch gap between it and the windowsill, below. Oh. My. Gods!!! He (and the window and the wreathe) escaped unscathed, though he tried two more times before we could get the damned thing down. Once it was relocated to the outside of the window, though, he lost interest in it.

Then there was the abiding allure of the six foot tall bookcases in the dining room. Especially the one off by itself on the far side of the door from the other two. And the gut-wrenching sight of Max launching himself across the gap and, because of his size and the "snowshoe" fur sticking out between his paw pads, sliding across the top of the bookshelf until he crashed into the wall behind it (just before sliding off the other end). He liked to sleep up there for hours. He also liked to stretch out and twist onto his back in his sleep. Before he got the hang of it, there were several disturbing thump-crashes as he fell off.

He also owned me when I was in the bathroom. Especially when I was, er, specifically occupied. He would demand petting and lap time (the only time he demanded lap time) and brushing and spent a lot of time winding around my ankles/calves purring hysterically before falling asleep between my feet. When the girls were still around, he would chase them away if they showed any inclination to join us. And he wouldn't take a closed door for a do not enter/disturb. One time, my mom was trying to do something in my kitchen and he was writhing around on the floor in there trying to get some belly worship, so I walked into the bathroom and said "oh, hello Piet" (even though Piet was innocently sleeping on the other end of the house) and there was an audible *thump* as each end of him went a different way trying to get to his feet before he came running (suspiciously! possessively!) into the bathroom to protect his territory.

It hasn't even been 12 hours yet and I miss him fiercely. The apartment is packed full of bittersweet moments that, though they'll mellow with time to cherished memories, right now make me ache. He was such a good cat.

I want my kitty.

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