A terrible day

Sunday, March 17, 2013 is a bad day.  In the big scheme of things, the thing that made it bad isn't catastrophic.  After all, we are charged with keeping things in perspective.  It was a day when one of my cats was found dead.  I'm not a cat nut.  But our family always had a cat as I grew up and I admired their independence and ability to "get on."  As i grew older and became the one taking care of the cat or cats, I liked them even  more.  I learned that they liked you back if you didn't curtail their movements, tease them cruelly, and fed them when they were hungry, all really easy things to do.  

We have, or had, three cats.  Two are alley cats who have the run of the neighborhood and usually only check in for their meals.  When the weather is really bad, they'll also stay inside  to sleep.  Red, on the otherhand, was, for whatever reason, a house cat.  Red came to us, via my oldest daughter, who discovered him at a WaWa she frequented for coffee.  Store employees told her Red was the last of a litter of kittens dumped there by some hound dog.  The others had been adopted.  Red was said to have been fed scraps by employees.  Jennifer scooped him up and brought him "with her" and planned to take him, she said, to her house when she left for the day.  But Jenny has several cats and feeds many others who live in the alley where she lives.  When Jenny went home, Red stayed with us, which I believe was her plan all along.  My wife didn't want another cat, but Red won her over.  He was 'cat red', meaning rust orange, with a white chest, one white paw and some white on his face.  He was outgoing, friendly to the point of being gregarious, and hopelessly inquisitive.  No bag, box or bag escaped Red's thorough investigation, meaning he would pull, push or pry until he got it open.  He took quickly to following me around, except when our fixed female, Bob, was around.  Red was hopelessly smitten with Bob and followed her everywhere.  Bob hated it and growled incessantly.  I had developed a talent for opening an outside door just enough for Bob to slip out but pulling it closed quick enough to keep Red in and without catching either of them in the door.  But beyond shadowing or stalking Bob, Red was harmless. He was a cat that you just had to love because he was always at your feet or on your lap or up on the nearest perch looking you in the eye.  If he saw one of the other cats getting into something, he joined them whether they wanted him to or not.  He had this look on his expressive mug that said, plain as day, "I know you won't hurt me."  Now, something has.  I will miss him terribly.