My Friend

My cat Skeeter.

Boon companion, best bud and constant source of good company, he traveled over the rainbow bridge after thirteen years, snuggled in my arms as I did the last best thing for him.

I rescued him as a kitten from the shelter when I went looking for a different cat. As I entered the feline room he sat up and stared at me as if to say, “Oh, good. You’re here. I’ve been waiting.” I crossed the room to his crate and thought to myself “I wonder if he’s litter-box trained?” He immediately wobbled into his box and made a deposit, removing all doubt that he was indeed my cat.

That day we began our lives together.

As cats go, he was most dog-like, being raised around both. He was a famous mouser and could jump a vertical five feet. He got along with everyone and I suspect he thought the chickens were crazy.

Saving My Boys

When I left my marriage I saved the animals I could from my increasingly dangerous spouse and Skeeter and Dusty came to live with me. I put chicken wire up on my balcony so he could go outside; I almost lost him once and was not going to chance it again. He was safe with us.

We found our house and my boys had a little yard. Skeeter would go on walks with Dusty and me and I was happiest with this view.

He was quirky; for a long while he delighted in pulling the water dish across the floor with one paw, sometimes tipping it over. I eventually duct-taped it into a boot tray and then he pulled the entire thing around the kitchen. Dusty was slightly embarrassed and made sure I knew he had no part in the antics of his cat brother.

Just The Two of Us

Dusty was older than Skeets and when he passed, Skeeter’s grief was evident.

He slept for eighteen hours straight.

He would no longer go for walks with me without his protector and friend and would only venture a few hundred feet to the mailhouse, meowing all the way. In summer he enjoyed rolling in the gutter and then would bolt back home, stopping at his favorite tree to sharpen his claws and be silly.

We settled into our routine and he hunted, bringing me various offerings. (Apparently this means your cat worries about your ability to provide for the household.) I used to leave the screen door ajar but he brought in too many live creatures and seemed genuinely shocked that I caught them and returned them to the wild.

He was patient with me in all aspects until I took up violin.

Skeeter hated it and would rattle the Venetian blinds until I either let him outside in good weather or put him in the garage in the winter. After a few years I moved on and he forgave me when I began playing bass guitar. He usually snoozed next to me.

 

We began our days with him stretched the length of my legs on my lap while I had coffee. We ended each day with me reading in bed and him curled up against my hip where I could reach down and scratch his ears.

After the Rainbow Bridge

I miss those times especially, or when I would see him waiting at the screen door for me to let him in, or dozing next to me when I played the bass, or greeting me when I returned home, or….all the times, really.

I was so lucky to have him in my life.

Our vet was just as kind as when Dusty passed and I am grateful for that. He hated the car rides over but loved Dr. Artz; I think Dr Artz had known him his entire life.

I am happy Skeeter was greeted by all the furry kids who have gone before, and is with his bud Dusty again. But oy, I miss him. I miss them both.

If you’ve been fortunate enough to have been loved by an animal, you know what I mean.

Until we meet again….