He was the best of cats. He was the worst of cats. He was one of our best friends. When he cuddled up in the crook of your legs, it was the best, grounded feeling of love and warmth. He adored foot strokes, and would stretch out to luxuriate and maximize the caresses. Blackie, without being able to meow, had more personality than any cat I’ve ever had. He was a “chonkosaurus,” part cat, rabbit, dog, all the animals really. He had the biggest anime cat eyes, glistening and hopeful, for whatever was on our plates. His favorite thing of all was food. He was always willing to help us eat whatever we happened to be eating. Beans. Blueberries. Meat. Potato chips. If anyone went into the kitchen, any time of day or night, he was right in there with you to supervise. He perfected techniques of getting our attention to lead us to the chronically recurring issue of his empty bowl. Outside the bathroom, with a turn and a little wiggle when I opened the door to say “Hey, c’mere! I got something to show ya!” Ears cocked to let me know I was supposed to follow. He used to rear up at the table, and tap-tap me on the forearm to let me know that he could help me with my food. He made more trouble than noise, but the house seems eerily quiet without him. He was such a huge presence in our lives since the day we brought him home. I can’t imagine our family without him in it.
Category: Memorials
