Jackson. He’s our Maine Coon cat. Ok, I know there are cat haters here, we’ve had this discussion before. So run along if you like, I certainly won’t be offended.
Many many years ago I’d never been around cats. When I married, I dunno, 1982 or so, it’s was a friggin’ package deal with her, a 5 yr old son (I dearly love), and two teenage Maine Coon cats. It didn’t take long to really really love the entire package.
Muppet and Dylan - of course being teenagers in 1982, are no longer here - only in memories and pics.. Muppet’s demise came from a car tire (never let another cat outside after that) and Dylan died simply from aging. I was there. It weren’t fun to see. At this point I’d like to say God Bless my ex and her sister for being with my sister when she expired - or any of you who’ve been there - I can’t imagine how tough it would be…
Dylan, in the waning times, would act like he was playing hide and seek - and not ever having watched a cat in those final years, months, days - I wasn’t aware this was his way to say “just let me go.”
Roughly 1994, my ex sister inlaw was onea the spearheaders for the Tri Lakes Area Humane Society. For you non-Baldknobber sonsabitches, that’s the Branson area… Having had two wonderful Maine Coons - wanted another. She watched and watched and watched for one…
Finally… I’ll never forget the day she brought him. Jackson. No idea how old he was. Caged for the 5 hours ride. Plopped the cage in the floor - opened the door, he took three steps out, laid down as if he’d lived there his entire life, and simply kicked back.
That’s Jackson. Maine Coons are longhairs, gorgeous (I know, I’m biased), they ‘talk’, and it’s like they live life on valium. Nothing bothers ‘em. Well, almost nothing. Jackson is quite fond of the same ole same ole 9 Lives (special blend to stave off urinary tract infection) cat food. I mean I love love peanut butter. But every day since 1994? I don’t think so. Hell I couldn’t even keep a woman that long!
So…….. When I arise in the morning. Having to pee so bad I’m literally doing the pee pee dance - the entry to the bathroom is blocked. Uh huh, Jackson. Tail is up straight. (Pissed, wanting fed.) Scratch that. DEMANDING to be fed. In and out of my feet guiding me into the kitchen to his bowl, the wonderful since 1994 bag of 9 lives. Then, he’s cool.
He loves play, I think. He digs on strings and shoelaces, and the fugger never found a box he couldn’t fit in. He’s slept in boxes from purchases of microwaves, toasters, washers/dryers, shoes, Christmas/Birthday presents, yada yada yada. “Where’s Jackson?” In the box, he’s in the box.
During play, he’ll grabya hard, but the claws don’t come out. Amazing how he controls that. If you’ve over extended play time, or perhaps to match the roughness of your play, every once in awhile the claws remind you who’s in charge.
He greets you in the morning. Kindofa turned head, kinda-sorta meow (“rheow”) - noise.. And you hear it again upon entering from work day done - and of course when saying nighty nights.
Jackson is playing hide and seek. Who knows the year, months, days left. He’s impacted me - for the good. I’ve learned from him. He’s my buddy. He’s given me more smiles than Jerry Seinfeld. He’s taught me calm in dealing with my son. He demonstrates life is for play, for living.
Yes, it’s been a good long life - and it happens to all of us. The hide and seek thing makes one stop and think about life. This is the cats way - and I think perhaps it’s presented to us as a reminder on how not to live out our remaining years.
Let’s go. Do. Be. Have. Give. Wish. Dream. Play. Get along. Run. Walk. Talk. Compliment. Thank. Smile. Find a box to get in, a slide to go down, a swing to swing. Ole Jackson would want it that way.
Damn. Not long ago we had four. Bobbie, pristine - Saks…. Stripe, kinda cool, but like irregular clothing - Kmart… Figgie (still got, he and Jax) - the Fig is cross-eyed, runs into walls, fridges, cabinets and keeps going - Dollar General…
And Jackson. Cool. Calm. Everyone loves him - WalMart.
I hereby promise to double up on the pets/attention whilst I can.
Love, Victurd.
No comments:
Post a Comment