(no subject)
My parent's cat, Max, who was my cat when I was younger, died yesterday at the ripe old age of between 15 and 17.
I got Max when I was around 14 years old, he was about 2 years old then, rescued from owners who were clearly the progenitors of the first generation of chavs. He was petrified of the sound of police sirens (I lived on a council estate in Kent at the time, so the sound did occur sometimes). He spent the first month hiding in the most awkward of places. Once, he hid behind the oven, and we thought he'd jumped out of the window and escaped!
He was a good regal cat, a bit greedy, but very loving. I recall one time when my grandparents were visiting - he caught a bird and proceeded to crunch it to bits in the hedge whilst we were trying to have a barbecue. It put my gran right off her food!
Other things involved watching a bird program on TV and then attacking the TV to get at the birds. He jumped onto, around, behind, in front, behind, and around the TV looking for the tasty birds.
He wasn't a lone cat, we had two, the other, Smokey, we got as a kitten a few months after we got Max. He died about 3 years ago, poor thing, he was a farm cat, albeit a blue tabby, extremely good at mousing and birding, but not a good bloodline for living to an old age. Despite an early animosity, they grew to accept and love each other. It was nice to sleep in bed with both by my feet.
Late in life, like the above picture, Max grew frail, but still enjoyed to wander outside and see the world. Increasingly timid, he'd run from sparrows, nevermind the local owls. It was always a joy to see him though, and he was excited to see me to, although he'd play hard to get for a while to punish me for being away for so long.
Here's to Max, a grand old cat!
I got Max when I was around 14 years old, he was about 2 years old then, rescued from owners who were clearly the progenitors of the first generation of chavs. He was petrified of the sound of police sirens (I lived on a council estate in Kent at the time, so the sound did occur sometimes). He spent the first month hiding in the most awkward of places. Once, he hid behind the oven, and we thought he'd jumped out of the window and escaped!
He was a good regal cat, a bit greedy, but very loving. I recall one time when my grandparents were visiting - he caught a bird and proceeded to crunch it to bits in the hedge whilst we were trying to have a barbecue. It put my gran right off her food!
Other things involved watching a bird program on TV and then attacking the TV to get at the birds. He jumped onto, around, behind, in front, behind, and around the TV looking for the tasty birds.
He wasn't a lone cat, we had two, the other, Smokey, we got as a kitten a few months after we got Max. He died about 3 years ago, poor thing, he was a farm cat, albeit a blue tabby, extremely good at mousing and birding, but not a good bloodline for living to an old age. Despite an early animosity, they grew to accept and love each other. It was nice to sleep in bed with both by my feet.
Late in life, like the above picture, Max grew frail, but still enjoyed to wander outside and see the world. Increasingly timid, he'd run from sparrows, nevermind the local owls. It was always a joy to see him though, and he was excited to see me to, although he'd play hard to get for a while to punish me for being away for so long.
Here's to Max, a grand old cat!