George was a hunter from the day he decided not to be afraid. He was also LOUD. "I want to go oooooouut! Nooooowwwww!" We began answering him very quietly, and soon we were having whispering conversations with him. He would reply, matching volume to volume until he, too, was whispering. To this day he has the strangest little meow that is more of a creaking sound than anything else.
His first "kill" was a mouse that Path brought into the bedroom in the middle of the night. Little baby George was sleeping on my pillow with me and looked over the edge of the bed when I turned the light on. Path, of course, dropped the very alive little mouse and Speedy Gonzales shot out the bedroom door and into the dining room. Kindra, Path and little George followed, but the kitten zoomed past the two older cats and nailed that mouse before it reached the far wall. And then we all chased him into the kitchen, where he stood growling with his mouth full warning us all that it was his mouse and no one could take it from him.
I believe that he killed it completely accidentally while trying to keep a good grip on it. How to keep him from eating it? I grabbed a can of cat food and opened it in front of him. He sniffed...and thought...and sniffed again. (Hmmmmm. Fur and crunchy things or nice ground meat inna can?) PTTTUE! He spit the mouse on to the floor and leaned in for the cat food. After that, anytime he caught something I could just show him a can and he'd spit out the prey in favor of a little civilization.
I will share some more of the details of George's life with you all. And pictures. I'll look for pictures. He was, except for the rodents whose lives he cut short, a gentle soul who never once hurt anyone with intention. Never. Not one bite, not even a scratch. In the years that I lived alone with him and his feline family, he always sat cuddled up to me on my left side. At night, his assigned seat was at my left hip--I kid you not, in 18years, it never changed. He was overjoyed that I let him go outside--he didn't know that it was because he always came when I called him; because he always was willing to hang out with me; because he seemed to understand what I was thinking and when something threatened us--like a malevolent dachshund, or a wild Tom cat or even your neighborhood toddler--he trusted me to make sure that he was safe.
Tonight, I just miss him. I lost my sweet boy last night when we realized that his body was really giving up. He was developing infections and cancers and things that neither he nor we could combat. Oh my God, I miss him. For 18 years he was my child, my gardening partner, my friend. I love him. Forever.
So sad!! Yet worth it when they are such a joy. Tell us more about those wonderful 18 years.
ReplyDeleteBitsy, I just saw your comment. I realize that I have been paralyzed by the pain of losing George. I have not written a word in weeks. It's hard to believe after all these years of losing these precious lives. When my last kitty left me, it was the day that my mother died. It was hard to admit that Path was more a part of my everyday than was my mother,so many miles away. And uet, these are my children, sharing my life, everyday a part of all that is a part of the sacred and the mundane that make up our lives.
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