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As you might have noticed, we have been conspicuously absent
from the blogosphere since our last post about Rusty. That is because, even though he did everything we asked him to do—two surgeries, physical therapy, new feeding
regimes, medication—he didn’t make it.
It may seem strange to some folks, but we have had and continue to have
a very difficult time getting beyond that.
If you are animal people, you know that you might, someday,
have one non-human family member who is that special creature you’ll never see
the likes of again. And that was Rusty.
He had this little felt mouse that was much more than a
mouthful. When Rusty wanted to play, he would carry that thing down the
hallways, yowling through the felt until Scott or I would chase him down the stairs.
(He trained us well.) There he would drop the toy and wait for us to toss it. At that point, Rusty would pounce into action, snag the mouse with his front claws and dig away at it with
his back ones. Then he’d jump up and wait for the next toss and attack.
Other times it was the “stairs game.” As one of us would head for the basement,
Rusty would dive onto his side and plunge his head between two newel posts. Our
expected response was to vigorously rub his head while he feigned ferocity by
play-attacking our hand.
Each day when it was time for me to come home from work,
Scott reported that Rusty (and the other cats) waited at the top of the stairs
for me to arrive. When he heard the car pull into the driveway, he knew it was
my car. How is it that cats can tell time and recognize a particular car’s
sound?
On cold winter evenings, I wear a hot pink, velour robe, shaped much like a
potato sack with a zipper in the front and with openings for my feet, hands and
head. This construction keeps all of my body heat contained within the robe. We
called it a “spud” and Rusty considered it his personal winter hot house…but only
when I ensconced inside it. Wherever I was sitting, if I was wearing the spud, Rusty
would climb on my lap, paw at the zipper until it opened, and then crawl
inside, snuggling into the warmest spot, usually with his nose against my neck.
We were both toasty warm, except for that little cool spot where his nose
touched me.
He was a good sleeper. If a patch of sun appeared anywhere
on the floor, that’s where you could find him. I’m sure I could compile a large
tome of photos showing him sleeping in various places in the sun. He luxuriated
in the light and the warmth.
Rusty had an amazing tail. It was the signal of his
emotional state. Whenever he was excited, for whatever reason, his tail puffed
up into that condition cats usually exhibit in fear or anger. In Rusty, it was
just excitement—for the chase, the bug on the rug, the bird at the window, the
food, the game, life…
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