Wow. Has it really been over four years since I last posted to this thing? Does anyone ever actually read this?
*tap-tap-tap* This thing on?
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A lot has happened since my last post. We lost Ezry almost exactly a year to the day after the last post. Shortly after publishing that post, she had gone back to her old ways and we had to exile her to the backyard again. Then, in the Spring of 2009, we remodeled the front living room and dining room with fresh paint, new furniture, and shiny new laminate floors. Having finally exorcised the ghost of little puppy peesalot, we allowed Ezry her place back in the house. All went extraordinarily well. We finally had our little girl back and she was happy to be allowed inside again. Ezry still went outside whenever she wanted, but usually came in before bedtime.
One night early that summer, she didn't come back in. It wasn't the first time she had opted to stay out all night when the weather was nice, so we didn't think much of it. But then she didn't come in the next morning for breakfast, which was unusual. Being a workday, we didn't have time to look for her, and decided she'd probably be back that afternoon.
She wasn't. That's when the dread and panic crept in. We walked the neighborhood calling for her, put up posters, visited the animal shelter, put an ad on craigslist, and wished desperately for her safe return.
About a week later, we went searching in the field under the tasco row that divides our neighborhood. At first we didn't find anything. But then we found a feline skull fragment, several days old, the obvious victim of a coyote encounter. We didn't find anything else. No collar, fur, or any identifiable bones. But I knew. Deep down I knew it was her.
A decade from when she entered our lives as a tiny mewing ball of black fluff, she was gone.
We mourned her for a long time. Even Sebastian wasn't the same after she left. Despite their uneasy relationship, I guess he had grown accustomed to her face. He wailed at nothing in particular more than usual, seemed listless, yet restless.
We knew we'd get a new cat eventually, but never made plans. Two years later—last summer to be exact—our friends Leeann and Ron called to tell us about how the night before, they found a black mother cat and four gray and brown tabby kittens. Mama cat had collars, but no ID.
A throwaway. Whether before they were born, or because of her litter, someone had abandoned her and her kittens. The morning after finding the family of five in their yard, Ron heard another kitten outside, this time up a tree. They had apparently missed seeing him the evening before and he had spent the entire night in a tree full of ants. This tough little guy was the one Leeann wanted to introduce to us.
When we met that tiny mewing ball of gray and white fluff, who was a flea-bitten, ant stung, earmite ravaged, ringworm carrying survivor, we immediately fell in love with him.
Funny how these things happen. Over the years, we would talk about getting dogs or another cat, but never really planned it out. Never set a date and officially prepared. It would always just sorta happen. It had with Ezry when we found her in the bushes and took her in. It had when, on a whim, I went to see the kittens my parents' veterinarian had ready for adoption and came home with Sebastian. It did with Joxer when my coworker emailed pictures of him looking for someone to adopt him and I forwarded them on to Tim for a "Hey, want a dog?" laugh and brought him home the next day. Then, the week of my 30th birthday, we started a spur of the moment search for a second dog and when we were about to give up after meeting a couple of dogs and not really connecting with them, Tim happened to find Xander on craigslist.
July of last year, another lost soul found us, and we welcomed him into our family. We eradicated his fleas, bathed him, salved his bites and stings, and even vanquished the ringworm. He bonded with us immediately, litter trained without problem, and made friends with everyone. The first night we had him, Tim was playing with him in the powder room (tiny kitteh's temporary quarantine), and I was lying in the halway outside the closed door with the dogs, playing paw grab with the kitten under the door. As I was lying there, marveling at this little guy's incredible will to live and good-natured tenacity the name Simon just popped into my head and I couldn't help but blurt it out. Before Tim could respond I continued, "He's a Simon. I don't know why, but it just fits. Simon Kitty." Tim agreed, and so he was named.
As it would happen, when I told people about him the following week, one coworker thought, since we had named the dogs after TV characters, that it was after the Firefly character of the same name, while another thought it was after the lead singer of one of my all time favorite bands, Duran Duran. I was actually surprised that when the name popped into my head the night before, I never made those connections. Maybe it was my subconscious that made the connection and quietly whispered the name to me. Or, more likely, it was just a coincidence. Besides, if I ever write more real-life-inspired cat stories, "Simon and Sebastian" has a nice ring to it. And, over the last 12 months, his antics have caused us to extend his name to Simon Pickles McGillicuddy. Guess he got his TV name, after all.
We got him neutered and vaccinated, and he has gone through his terrible kitten months with minimal damage done (though, he did earn the moniker of Demon Kitteh), and has turned into a wonderfully friendly, mischievous, laid back, and bold cat who has to be in whatever room we are. Even as I type this, he is blissfully napping next to my laptop.
We'll always miss Ezry, but she leaves a legacy in our hearts to help the tiny fluffballs who can't help themselves whenever they happen to enter our lives. We didn't know it at the time, but when Ezry left, she had set the stage for Simon's entrance.
*tap-tap-tap* This thing on?
.jpg)
One night early that summer, she didn't come back in. It wasn't the first time she had opted to stay out all night when the weather was nice, so we didn't think much of it. But then she didn't come in the next morning for breakfast, which was unusual. Being a workday, we didn't have time to look for her, and decided she'd probably be back that afternoon.
She wasn't. That's when the dread and panic crept in. We walked the neighborhood calling for her, put up posters, visited the animal shelter, put an ad on craigslist, and wished desperately for her safe return.
About a week later, we went searching in the field under the tasco row that divides our neighborhood. At first we didn't find anything. But then we found a feline skull fragment, several days old, the obvious victim of a coyote encounter. We didn't find anything else. No collar, fur, or any identifiable bones. But I knew. Deep down I knew it was her.
A decade from when she entered our lives as a tiny mewing ball of black fluff, she was gone.
We mourned her for a long time. Even Sebastian wasn't the same after she left. Despite their uneasy relationship, I guess he had grown accustomed to her face. He wailed at nothing in particular more than usual, seemed listless, yet restless.
We knew we'd get a new cat eventually, but never made plans. Two years later—last summer to be exact—our friends Leeann and Ron called to tell us about how the night before, they found a black mother cat and four gray and brown tabby kittens. Mama cat had collars, but no ID.
A throwaway. Whether before they were born, or because of her litter, someone had abandoned her and her kittens. The morning after finding the family of five in their yard, Ron heard another kitten outside, this time up a tree. They had apparently missed seeing him the evening before and he had spent the entire night in a tree full of ants. This tough little guy was the one Leeann wanted to introduce to us.
When we met that tiny mewing ball of gray and white fluff, who was a flea-bitten, ant stung, earmite ravaged, ringworm carrying survivor, we immediately fell in love with him.
Funny how these things happen. Over the years, we would talk about getting dogs or another cat, but never really planned it out. Never set a date and officially prepared. It would always just sorta happen. It had with Ezry when we found her in the bushes and took her in. It had when, on a whim, I went to see the kittens my parents' veterinarian had ready for adoption and came home with Sebastian. It did with Joxer when my coworker emailed pictures of him looking for someone to adopt him and I forwarded them on to Tim for a "Hey, want a dog?" laugh and brought him home the next day. Then, the week of my 30th birthday, we started a spur of the moment search for a second dog and when we were about to give up after meeting a couple of dogs and not really connecting with them, Tim happened to find Xander on craigslist.
July of last year, another lost soul found us, and we welcomed him into our family. We eradicated his fleas, bathed him, salved his bites and stings, and even vanquished the ringworm. He bonded with us immediately, litter trained without problem, and made friends with everyone. The first night we had him, Tim was playing with him in the powder room (tiny kitteh's temporary quarantine), and I was lying in the halway outside the closed door with the dogs, playing paw grab with the kitten under the door. As I was lying there, marveling at this little guy's incredible will to live and good-natured tenacity the name Simon just popped into my head and I couldn't help but blurt it out. Before Tim could respond I continued, "He's a Simon. I don't know why, but it just fits. Simon Kitty." Tim agreed, and so he was named.
As it would happen, when I told people about him the following week, one coworker thought, since we had named the dogs after TV characters, that it was after the Firefly character of the same name, while another thought it was after the lead singer of one of my all time favorite bands, Duran Duran. I was actually surprised that when the name popped into my head the night before, I never made those connections. Maybe it was my subconscious that made the connection and quietly whispered the name to me. Or, more likely, it was just a coincidence. Besides, if I ever write more real-life-inspired cat stories, "Simon and Sebastian" has a nice ring to it. And, over the last 12 months, his antics have caused us to extend his name to Simon Pickles McGillicuddy. Guess he got his TV name, after all.
We got him neutered and vaccinated, and he has gone through his terrible kitten months with minimal damage done (though, he did earn the moniker of Demon Kitteh), and has turned into a wonderfully friendly, mischievous, laid back, and bold cat who has to be in whatever room we are. Even as I type this, he is blissfully napping next to my laptop.
We'll always miss Ezry, but she leaves a legacy in our hearts to help the tiny fluffballs who can't help themselves whenever they happen to enter our lives. We didn't know it at the time, but when Ezry left, she had set the stage for Simon's entrance.
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