|Blogs > rm_XTheJesterX > The Jester's shack of madness|
I miss my cat....
I miss my cat....
Monday morning my cat of 14 years died.
Ozzy was his name, and he was mighty.
My 8th grade Thanksgiving break was when I got him, just before my first Deer Hunt with my father and his friends.
My mom was clamoring for a family pet so my father capitulated by getting a kitten from some farmer up north. The kitten was part Lynx and grey/black tiger striped.
When my dad brought him home, he spent the first two days hiding under our couch. No amount of cajoling on my mother or sister's part could bring him out.
Upon my return from the hunt late one Sunday night, I layed down on the couch to take a snooze.
I woke up with a little grey/black stiped bundle purring on my chest. From then on, I was never by myself when I was at home. He followed me everywhere.
My mother tried to name him a zillion different stupid things, and as anyone knows most cats don't come when you call them anyway. But he was definitely not answering to Crinkles or Romeo or any of the other stupid names she tried to give him.
So one night my nameless kitten and I are in my room. I'm trying to sleep while he's running back and forth on the shelf of my headboard jumping up and down and causing general mischief.
With his play, he activated my clock radio. It was set to a rock station, and the song that came on was "Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne. Instead of fleeing from the new noise, he laid down on top of the speaker, curled up and started purring.
From that moment on, the nameless kitten was Ozzy.
Ozzy grew quickly, and was soon doing everything in his power to get outside. Much to my mother's chagrin, my dad simply opened the door and let him out one night.
My father released a predator into our suburban ecosystem the likes of which, the local wildlife was not prepared for. Being part Lynx, Ozzy was not content with the sparrows and field mice that normal house cats were happy to catch. No no, Ozzy brought home the remains of creatures like Possums and Racoons. Rabbits were another of his favorite meals too.
When it became clear that he was going to be well over the 15 pounds the vet originally estimated, my mother tried to put him on a diet. This only increased his killing spree. He hunted to supplement the mouthful of cat chow my mom was feeding him on a daily basis.
Soon he grew to nearly 40 pounds. And it wasn't fat. He was a lean death engine with inch long claws. But he wasn't at all mean. He loved people, large breasted women in particular. And no matter what, whenever I was at home, he was always within reach.
If you were his size or smaller though...look out. You were a possible dinner.
My favorite story about him was as follows...
Our nieghbor had a beagle dog that he would often let run free. This was after we'd decided that Ozzy had killed enough and put him on a steel cable runner in our back yard whenever he wanted out. The cable ran between two metal poles in the yard that were most likely intended to hold clotheslines. Attached to the cable we had another one on a loop that acted as a leash. This way Ozzy would have the run of the yard for the most part, but wouldn't be able to run off and bring down a deer or anything.
So anyway, the neighbor's beagle for some reason decided that it was going to poke fun at Ozzy. One of Ozzy's favorite places to hunker down in the yard was under a big overgrown Lilac bush. The beagle would run up to the bush and bark at Ozzy until my cat had enough and would dart out and try to run the beagle down. The beagle knew how far it was to the end of the cable though. So he would run to just out of Ozzy's reach, then turn and taunt him some more.
One day, after a particularly bad day at school, I got home to see the beagle barking at the Lilac bush then turn and dart away. Sure enough Ozzy was after him. That day was different than the others though.
It would seem that one of the poles Ozzy's runner was strung from, was rusted out at the base. As Ozzy reached the end of the wire, he continued to strain, just as he always did, as the beagle stood flat footed just barking and barking.
Normally I'd find the scene amusing, then pull Ozzy inside. But as I walked towards him, I heard a weird crackle as the pole gave way.
Now..before we get to the icky bit, I will qualify things by saying this...
I warned my neighbor several times that my cat was not to be trifled with, and sooner or later his dog was going to be in serious trouble unless he kept it out of my yard. My neighbor failed to heed my warnings.
Back to the icky...
The beagle never stood a chance. He wasn't expecting Ozzy to keep coming, so when my cat went beyond the familiar border, it only stood confused. A yelp and a whimper were all that I could hear as Ozzy tackled it and they rolled into the space between our houses.
I ran over to hear the wet tearing sounds of Ozzy's work. If you've ever seen lions hunt and bring down a kill. You can imagine. He had the beagle by the throat and his front claws were deep in its back while his hind claws were raking out its guts.
There was no saving the dog, and I really didn't want to. Once Ozzy had finished taking his vengeance, he sauntered casualy back to his hidey hole under the bush.
There was some problem with my neighbor threatening legal action and so forth, but nothing came of it.
Needless to say, Ozzy was a warrior.
As time passed, it came time for me to move out. Ozzy couldn't come with me, so he stayed with my mom and dad. I had to come visit him almost daily though, because he refused to eat.
Eventually, I weened him away from me, but he never forgot who I was. He was always immediatly at my side whenever I visited my parents.
Ozzy mellowed out with age. He lost size and strength, but never his wits. Even in his last days, as he was losing control of his bodily functions, he would climb into the bathtub to rest rather than make a mess of the house.
The vets offered to put him down, although they assured my parents that he wasn't in any pain, he was just shutting down. My mother decided not to end him that way. So she brought him home.
I went to see him Saturday night. He was weak, but he was still himself. He'd lost a lot of weight, but was still unable to get up onto furniture unassisted. Just the same he came up to me and tried with every fiber of his being to get on my lap. I helped him and he purred. I sat with him for three hours. Then he looked up at me.
He said goodbye.
He crawled down and went into the bathroom and went into the tub.
Monday morning my mom called to tell me he'd died. I went to my mom's to get him.
I took him and had him cremated. A viking funeral.
I miss my cat, but I will see him again. I know he has a special place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave may live forever.
11/24/2005 10:02 am
Your cat Ozzy sounds amazing. You have my best wishes.
11/24/2005 11:21 am
hey Jester welcome back, havent seen you around much. It sounds like you are your cat are cut from the same cloth and I am sure he enjoyed life as much as you.|
11/25/2005 5:00 am
jester, so sorry to hear about your cat He definitely sounds a lot like you No wonder he was always at your side. Cats are much smarter than people realize.|
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