They left us for that great gig in the sky; Missy on January 26th and Bandit, just last week, on June 3rd. They were both young, as kitties go. Missy was 11 and Bandy was only 6. Both were fairly sudden, unexpected and shocking.
I grew up an only child so I'm very used to being alone. I suppose what I didn't realize is that I really had not been alone since I had them for company. They greeted me at the door when I came home. I was always talking to them and they back. Bandy was almost always by my side.
I miss them so much. I long to be back in the day when the house was full...
I called Bandy my "little guy" and "peanut". There was never a dull moment when he was around. Bandit loved and lived for playing with water:
The sink, bath tub, shower, your water glass, the dish under a potted plant, a vase with cut flowers, the bowl under the kitchen sink's leak, no matter......he'd find it. Then spill it. It started when he learned to splash with his water bowl. The wood floor in the kitchen near it began to warp. I moved the water bowl to the laundry room's tile floor.
Missy looked a little like an owl, sometimes scary, but she was the sweetest, gentlest thing. A real girlie, through and through..
Which was why it was so funny the time she went after Luke when he and I were arguing.....
My nickname for her was "Misita" and sometimes "Missy Misita." She was my little girl kitty although she never looked all that little with all the fur she had. Missy was very lovey and most content when either sitting on your lap or as close as catly possible right next to you. All she ever wanted was to be loved and petted. Over time with us, when asked for a kiss, she began to stick her nose in the air to rub noses with you. That's what Johnny's trying to do with her below. Note Bandit watching and getting ticked off. He was, afterall, top cat ...
:
Look at "the face"! but do NOT let it fool you. Bandit was my attack cat. He went after everyone who ever entered the house at one time or another. He swatted and he bit and he meant business. When he bit, he was out for blood. When I came across a little sign that read: WARNING: CRAZY CAT, I knew I had to have it. I put it on the side door but everyone thought it was a joke. haha. . . I'll tell you who had the last laugh. . .
Bandit took particular pride in guarding his stairs....or perhaps it was the whole upstairs where we slept that he was really watching over.
I remember Luke's friend, Nathaniel, telling me one day, "You know, he's real protective of those stairs!" Apparently, he used to go after the boys when they tried going up to his room.
Bandit never gave Misita any peace. He stalked her as a past time. He'd hide and pounce on her when she walked by. He'd lurk behind the couch, for example, and watch for her arrival by looking underneath it. She wasn't the brightest bulb and would never have thought to look under it as she was approaching to see if he was lying in wait. He got her every time.
He'd jump on her back and then fiercly bite her neck, one side and then the other....fast and furiously. The poor thing. It got to the point where she'd always be looking over her shoulder as she walked through the house.
A rare moment where they were touching and not fighting:
Bandit was one special kitty. He loved playing fetch. I'd stand in the downstairs hallway and toss one of his balls into the living room. He'd run after it, pick it up, bring it back to me, and drop it at my feet. Over and over. In the last couple of years he started bringing me the ball when I was sitting at the desk in the study at the top of the stairs. I'd toss it down the stairs and he'd bolt after it. He'd get down that whole staircase in three leaps. I remember the last time we played. It was about a month before his death. He must've brought me that bally twenty times. He hadn't chased that much in a long time. I couldn't believe all his energy. Here he is in the hallway downstairs bringing me back his purple ball...
I used to refer to Misita as "my dumb blonde" because while always content with her surroundings she often appeared oblivious to what was going on around her. However, in all fairness, she really wasn't so dumb after all....... she was actually paying close attention as we came to find out. Apparently she'd watch Bandit bringing me back the ball and getting heaps of praise for this act. She must've thought to herself, "Hey, I can do that, too!" So one day I'm sitting in the kitchen and I hear this muffled meowing coming from the distance but getting closer. All of a sudden, who turns the corner but Missy, meowing away with a ball in her mouth, strutting real proud. She brought it all the way to me at the kitchen table and dropped it at my feet and then scooted off, so proud of herself. : ) Now she did not use any of Bandit's three favorite balls (purple, yellow or blue) but, rather, another multi-colored one that he never played with because it was more oval and flat than round and didn't roll like the others when he batted it. This ball henceforth was referred to as "Missy's ball" and only she touched it. She was probably around 8 years old when she learned this and she brought it to me repeatedly over the years. She didn't fetch it or anything like he did, but bring it to me she did, and praise her for it I did. She always meowed the whole time it was in her mouth.
This reminds me of something Bandit did when he was younger. He had a toy we referred to as "Mousie." He used to walk around the house carrying it in his mouth and he'd make a growling sound every time he did. He also had his own teddy bear which, when he was little, wasn't much smaller than he was. He used to carry that around in his mouth, too, bring it to different places and then attack it.
Bandit loved laying on clean laundry...
He'd find it, wherever it was. . .
But he'd pretty much sleep anywhere.....especially on things new and exciting like the package that delivered Christmas presents....
And the new witch doll that Mary Sue gave me...
Or on Grandma Vicky's laptop when she came down for a visit...
Or on the towels I set up in anticipation of Hurricane Ike who was about to come knocking at our door last September 13th....
He always could be found late afternoon in the back kitchen window sunning (baking!).....
And of course, he even slept on *his* bannister.....
The top of my old monitor was nice and warm, too....
Or how about wrapping up in the warm sheets I just washed and were putting back on the bed.....
Of course Johnny's suitcase was cozy as well, especially with nice clean, folded laundry in it.....
And here was one of his favorite places to hang......
Not to mention his home away from home, a bathroom sink.....
Then there was Luke's SAT Prep book that looked rather comfy....
He was a big fan of my catalog orders for one reason...
Then, on occasion, he'd check out the guest room bed....
These were taken in November 2008. I had a cat on each of the chair's arms. Little did I know at that time they'd be taken away from me shortly thereafter....
...and my Missy (with her tongue that always stuck out a little bit since she got some eye teeth pulled)....
First there was Zubo. When I lived at Arty's back on Long Island, I found him out on the front lawn. I fed him. He kept coming back. I had never had a kitty before hence knew nothing about their habits. In retrospect, perhaps he belonged to a neighbor but since he was always around, I figured he was homeless and took him in. Zubo was with me for sixteen years.
I had Zubo B.L. (that's Before Luke.) He was about 5 months old when I first came upon him. Or he upon me. When I was pregnant I set up the baby's room and came home from work one day to find Zubo sleeping in the crib. Another time, on the changing table. Hearing horror stories about cats smothering babies (old wive's tales, I'm sure), I was uneasy. Once baby Luke came home, however, Zubo was *no where near* that crib.
Zubo got to move with us to Texas. And back to NY. And back again to Texas. He lived with us in five different places; finally our current house for six years. It's a great house for a cat with windows and French doors all around and a foot wide window ledge on two sides of the kitchen table to bask in the sun.
Once Zubo was gone, I was done. No more pets.
It is six years ago today, June 14th, that Zubo left us.
Two months later Luke and I went to the SPCA. Just to look. We came home that day with a five year old long-haired Siamese mix. If you ever would have asked me if I'd take in an adult cat, the answer would have been an adamant, "NO!" But when I saw her in the cage, she reminded me of Zubo who was also a Siamese mix. When they brought her to me in the little room, I bent down and asked her for a kiss and she did exactly what Zubo did. She lifted her head so I could kiss the top of it. That sealed the deal.
Meanwhile, Luke was picking out a kitten. He chose the only one in the place that was hanging upside down from the top of his cage. I should've known right then and there that this one was going to be different from all the rest. He had to get neutered so he couldn't come home with us that day. We had to go back a couple of days later to pick him up.
Off we went with Missy in a cardboard box bound for home. Those two days before we went back and picked Bandit up were probably her only two days of peace in this house.
So here I sit now at my desk. To the right of me I can see down the staircase. Every now and then when sitting here, I hear a little noise and turn, expecting to see one of the cats.
But nothing's there.
