So I fell off the planet for nearly a week, and it's all because of a five year old black and white cat named Charity.
A week ago, this male tuxedo of ours was prancing around the house, inside and out, and up and down the stairs, roof, trees, etc. Then, just as suddenly, he was critically ill. We fixed that problem and then a simple issue arose. We were treating that when he died suddenly on Sunday.
Charity--and his sisters Faith and Hope--were born to our tiny "eco" kitty, Midnight, our little "hospice care" cat that ran out and conceived these guys before she was well enough to be spayed. No one (except me) wanted to break up the family, so we kept them all.
Today, three of my children and I are eulogizing Charity by sharing a few memories. I figure Brian Marchellis would understand.
Me: Soft and floppy, with a face like Mufasa in The Lion King and a determined personality, one that added, on his own, a head butt to my cheek during prayer time at kitty meals (God is great, God is good--head butt--and we thank him for our food. Amen) and who broke through a living room screen during a church service at our house because he wanted to be a part of it (which is why we scooted him outside in the first place).
As a teen, Charity was afraid to climb down the first tree he ever scaled, and we had to call the fire department (which could do nothing for insurance reasons, and besides, they didn't have a ladder that tall...they said). For years afterward, whenever Charity climbed up on the roof, we had to help him down. When he finally figured out the whole climbing thing, he did so gingerly, while his sister Hope was claws dug into a tree with a fireman pole slide all the way down.
To his credit, Charity was the one that figured out the electric fence only rose eight feet in the air, and if he climbed to the far side of the north garage, he could leap to our neighbor's garage and to blessed freedom
BTW, no matter where Charity was hiding in the house, one could not cut into a cucumber without Charity knowing it. Cucumbers were his favorite treat. Any green vegetable--brocolli, green beans, kale, etc.-- was second.
Timothy: It's funny how fast time goes by. No time has gone by in my mind.
I remember as if it was yesterday. Charity was brand new to this world, but I knew even then that he was going to be a handful. Before his eyes were even open, he hissed at me. It was his way of showing me who was boss, and in the years that followed, it was clear that it wasn’t me. He was clever. He was first to figure out how get over the stack of VHS’s to get out of the closet (Midnight had birthed them behind a stack of videotapes in a basement closet). He made it up the stairs before his sisters did (Later, he would just jump across the staircase to avoid the steps altogether.)
Although, he had his moments, when he was a kitten, and I was trying to teach him to use the litter box, rather than use it, he continued to open up his little pink mouth and eat the litter. I had to fight him to spit the litter out of his mouth. He was a handful. From "sexing" him to chasing him around the neighborhood, he always kept me on my toes…up until the very end.
A week ago, this male tuxedo of ours was prancing around the house, inside and out, and up and down the stairs, roof, trees, etc. Then, just as suddenly, he was critically ill. We fixed that problem and then a simple issue arose. We were treating that when he died suddenly on Sunday.
Charity--and his sisters Faith and Hope--were born to our tiny "eco" kitty, Midnight, our little "hospice care" cat that ran out and conceived these guys before she was well enough to be spayed. No one (except me) wanted to break up the family, so we kept them all.
Today, three of my children and I are eulogizing Charity by sharing a few memories. I figure Brian Marchellis would understand.
Me: Soft and floppy, with a face like Mufasa in The Lion King and a determined personality, one that added, on his own, a head butt to my cheek during prayer time at kitty meals (God is great, God is good--head butt--and we thank him for our food. Amen) and who broke through a living room screen during a church service at our house because he wanted to be a part of it (which is why we scooted him outside in the first place).
As a teen, Charity was afraid to climb down the first tree he ever scaled, and we had to call the fire department (which could do nothing for insurance reasons, and besides, they didn't have a ladder that tall...they said). For years afterward, whenever Charity climbed up on the roof, we had to help him down. When he finally figured out the whole climbing thing, he did so gingerly, while his sister Hope was claws dug into a tree with a fireman pole slide all the way down.
To his credit, Charity was the one that figured out the electric fence only rose eight feet in the air, and if he climbed to the far side of the north garage, he could leap to our neighbor's garage and to blessed freedom
BTW, no matter where Charity was hiding in the house, one could not cut into a cucumber without Charity knowing it. Cucumbers were his favorite treat. Any green vegetable--brocolli, green beans, kale, etc.-- was second.
Timothy: It's funny how fast time goes by. No time has gone by in my mind.
I remember as if it was yesterday. Charity was brand new to this world, but I knew even then that he was going to be a handful. Before his eyes were even open, he hissed at me. It was his way of showing me who was boss, and in the years that followed, it was clear that it wasn’t me. He was clever. He was first to figure out how get over the stack of VHS’s to get out of the closet (Midnight had birthed them behind a stack of videotapes in a basement closet). He made it up the stairs before his sisters did (Later, he would just jump across the staircase to avoid the steps altogether.)
Although, he had his moments, when he was a kitten, and I was trying to teach him to use the litter box, rather than use it, he continued to open up his little pink mouth and eat the litter. I had to fight him to spit the litter out of his mouth. He was a handful. From "sexing" him to chasing him around the neighborhood, he always kept me on my toes…up until the very end.
I’m sure he is up in heaven getting into
God's toast. He was that kind of cat, and he will be greatly missed. I had more
love for him than these words could possibly show.
Rebekah: It was when Charity was only a few months old that he ran into our oldest cat Frances. He
then proceeded to stare her down, trying to intimidate
her. Frances gave him no more attention then she would a cat toy. He continued
to look at her till she got up and walked away.
Another memory of Charity happened a few summers ago. We had a bad storm
coming in, and we were working on rounding the cats up to bring inside, and
Charity decided to run up a tree. We then tried to encourage him to come down. He refused and just inched father up the tree. A few us were still
outside when a big gush of wind blew Charity out of the tree and into the yard.
By then he decided he had enough and wanted to come inside
Daniel: I remember when Charity got stuck in a tree in our front yard. It was about a 22
foot tree and although Tim, Rebekah, and I tried to help him down, we finally gave up. A little while later, our Uncle Jerry stopped by and offered a couple
tips, but none was helped, so we decided to call the fire department
since Mom believed in the little books where firemen always got the pet down. The fire man said when he arrived that there was nothing except wait for
Charity to get tired and fall down. Mom was disappointed cause it was nothing like
the books. I tried one more time to climb the tree, got him, and he wanted to
wonder around, but we brought him inside. What an idiot!
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