All of you Latin scholars out there no doubt recognized that phrase, often abbreviated as R.I.P. and translated as Rest in Peace. Well, it’s had an outbreak here at the ranch; our feline population has undergone some major changes. Boy, has it ever.
First off, Ruffian, of the inside cat contingent, took off one day and could not be persuaded to return. I chased her and brought her back twice but it was not a permanent arrangement, so off she went again, so far no sign of her around here. Then Spike, the “tough guy” Porch Kitty, stopped coming around for the free lunch; haven’t seen him since.Maybe he was not that tough after all. Champ, the guy who had left twice before but returned to be our resident lumpkin, moving as little as possible from one cushy spot to the next, checked out rather abruptly. Oddly enough, he was also the most talkative, making interesting chirps– and whistles every so often, not with any apparent message specifically, just conversational. He didn’t even say goodbye. Then RMC (Reformed Mamma Cat)–that’s been her title since “the operation”–left us just the other day. She’d been looking sort of frail and really lightweight lately but not imminently preparing to cross the Rainbow Bridge. But she did…quietly.
So I’m burying cats. Mamma is in the front flower bed; she liked to be out in the yard, surveying the neighborhood, taking in the sunshine. Champ is in the back, under the big tree; he can commune with the birds and squirrels.
Sonny, RMC’s last litter survivor and constant companion, is kinda lost but is holding up so far, he comes out to see me every morning after my walk, or when I return from any absence. He eats regularly and has remembered the heat available in the boxes. He has also kind of tried to make friends with Fuego, a former inside kitty who has decided to go “wild and free” outside, but still prefers to get his vittles on the back steps. We’ll see how the temps changing affects his preference for the Great Outdoors. He has not discovered the kitty condos on the front porch–or maybe just doesn’t want to seem to be “slumming” after being accustomed to hopping on the bed for his beauty sleep. Or maybe he’s not interested in making the acquaintance of Lily from next door, who is perfectly happy to sleep in the warm boxes, eat the kitty kibble and get petted whenever I appear. She’s pretty close to blind, I think, but she knows me, knows the bowls, knows that she can hang out here safely.
Inside, we still have two nutball cats–Butterscotch and Grimalkin–Grimmy–who take turns upchucking, leaving hairballs, playing with toilet paper, climbing on my lap (They pretty much disappear whenever anyone else comes into the house.), knocking things off shelves–the usual cat stuff.
If a new cat or two showed up outside, they’d have to get acquainted with Garfield and Fluffy, the across-the-street Welcome Wagon crew, but there are still board and lodging available on our front porch for any friendly types. Harley, the pup next door, might even come for a party…if the treats are soft enough, he’s pretty old too.
