Reader Warning: The following piece is a eulogy for a cat. Don't wait for the happy ending, because it doesn't exist. If you aren't up for it, feel free to visit the archives instead. However, if you like your cat eulogies peppered with references to wrestling, by all means, continue reading.
I first met LCG's peculiar cats almost two years ago, the day of the Bill Wyman show. That afternoon I went to pick him up so we could have a little trip to the Mongolian Barbecue before I headed off to see my favorite (former) Rolling Stone. When I arrived at his house, he informed me that he had cats now. What? These cats had lived with the whole family when he was a teenager, but when his brother moved out, he took possession of the cats. For reasons still unclear to me, they had moved to LCG's home. The cats had been traded!
I sat down on the couch, and within a couple minutes, my two new best friends appeared. The two friends had names, but as soon as I met them, they were forever after referred to as Cockeyed Kitty and Barking Kitty. The first cat I saw was a charming black and white fellow, and when I said hello, he barked at me. He doesn't say meow like other cats. When he says meow, it is a sharp, loud, and very brief declaration. "Dude! Your cat barks!" We soon discovered that if you say, "Bark!" at him, he will say, "Meow!" in his Barking Kitty way right back. It's great, cheap entertainment.
And then came the other kitty. The petite gray kitty. She was a tiny little kitty, and as it turned out, she was Barking Kitty's mama. She was darling, but her head was permanently tilted to her left. "Who is this cockeyed kitty?" I wanted to know. Now, cockeyed isn't the correct term. More correctly, I should have called her Headcocked Kitty, or Head Permanently Cocked Kitty, but that doesn't have the same cute factor as Cockeyed Kitty. But why was she cockeyed? Kitty had had a stroke a couple of years before, and that was a lingering result of the incident.
(I know kitty strokes are not funny. But one of my best stories starts out with, "You see, LCG has this cat that had a stroke...." I have spent lots of time explaining Cockeyed Kitty, and the fact that she isn't really cockeyed, etc.) And since her head had the permanent tilt, she looked perpetually interested in everything. When she came around a corner the head tilt was extra exaggerated, and it looked like whatever she was coming to see was the most fascinating thing in the world.
Anyway, Barking Kitty and Cockeyed Kitty became my new best friends, because I am an obvious cat mark. If you are a wrestling fan, you are familiar with marks. If you are not, I'll explain. When LCG and I were at Smackdown!, we befriended the geeks who were sitting in front of us, and I mentioned that I was waiting for Rico Constantino. I was the first Rico mark they had ever met. They themselves were Eric Bischoff marks, thrilled when one of them actually touched him when he ran up our aisle. You could also label me a Chris Jericho mark, while LCG is a mark for anything having to do with our Olympic Hero, Kurt Angle. I am also a kitty cat mark. I have sucker stamped on my forehead in letters that only kitties can see, and they respond accordingly by taking full advantage of me. Meaning, they use me as their place to nap.
I have mentioned on multiple occasions that my great hobby is watching wrestling over at LCG's house, but this is not entirely accurate. For the past year and a half I have been tired all the time due to work and school, so my great hobby is actually going over to LCG's house to watch wrestling and falling asleep on the couch instead. LCG is either a really good friend or a really bad friend, I can't decide which. When I do fall asleep, he doesn't wake me up and send me home. He instead throws a blanket over me and goes about his business of watching television, or playing video games, or working. I couldn't tell you for sure what he is doing, because I am asleep.
But as soon as that blanket gets tossed over me, Cockeyed Kitty appears out of nowhere to curl up in the small of my back and have a nap. I'm popular! Over time, it has gotten to the point where if I sit down on the couch, Cockeyed Kitty paces around at my feet, waiting for me to lie down so she can have a place to nap. There are plenty of cat-friendly surfaces all over the house! There is a chair a few feet away that is most comfy, but she instead lurks, because apparently my back is the prime kitty nap spot. I'm a-ok with that.
In fact, when I show up at LCG's house, he will come strolling out of the kitchen and tell me that he knew it was me who had arrived, because the cats went barreling out to greet me. He knows that if the kitties are excited, it's because I am the visitor. Over the past couple of months it has gotten so bad that I asked him if they had elected me their leader when I wasn't looking. I am now known at his house as El Presidente. "Barking Kitty! El Presidente is here!" And they pace around at my feet, waiting for me to sit down. When I do, I end up with one cat on either side of me. Cats are not renowned for being loyal subjects, but I have a couple of feline fans.
I always had to worry about Cockeyed Kitty, because she had other issues other than the side effects of her stroke. She had respiratory problems and wheezed every now and then. One time, she had a weird runny nose for a few months. She was starting to lose her hearing. Her days were obviously numbered, and I used to worry when she took one of those really deep cat naps, because it was entirely possible that she wasn't sound asleep but was actually dead. She never was dead though, and I was always relieved.
But Cockeyed Kitty was still spunky. Not so long ago, she was sitting in my lap purring, and when I tried to set her down on the floor, she took a swat at me. Because she was happy where she was, thank you so much. She would periodically have a fight with her obnoxious son, Barking Kitty, and she is also the cat who bit me in the face during my bad week. She was the cat equivalent of Mr. Burns. She just wouldn't give up.
And then came Monday night. I was at LCG's to watch ESPN because we had both missed the Wild game, and this happened:
LCG: "I have some bad news. Cockeyed Kitty..."
I started crying instantly. Only a moron would not grasp where this conversation was headed.
Me: "When?"
LCG: "Saturday."
Saturday? Wait a minute...
Me: "This upcoming Saturday, or this past Saturday?"
LCG: "Uh..."
Me: "She's already gone?"
LCG: "Yeah."
It's been a long time since I have produced such a massive quantity of snot and tears in such a short period. I didn't have a chance to say goodbye! I didn't get to give her one last kitty hug! I didn't have a chance to take charming photos of her! The last time I saw her, it was when I woke up on LCG's floor after falling asleep watching television, and she was curled up in the small of my back. (A standard scene from my life.) I got up and went home and I don't know if I even patted her on the head. And now she is gone. I have no wrestling nap buddy. Sunday was Mother's Day and Barking Kitty no longer has a mother! I was crushed.
I didn't find out for two days because no one wanted to tell me. (And you thought I was paranoid about that sort of thing? Not without good reason.) Saturday I had called him up and told him that I was thinking about making my cat the Rocksnobs mascot. "Uh..." he said. "Oh, I suppose you want one of your weirdo cats to be the mascot. It's gotta be my cat." He changed the subject.
Then I went over to his house to watch the hockey game, and when he went to take out the trash, I offered to be Kitty Patrol. I once saw Cockeyed Kitty squeeze out the door when it was open an inch. And she's old and tired! It's not safe for her to be outside! So I tried to take my usual Kitty Patrol spot and he shooed me away. Repeatedly. And I didn't know why.
Now I know why. No one wanted to tell me that she was gone.
And the worst part? The worst part is that LCG is the one who lost his kitty! He is the one who has lost a pet he has known for twelve years. He spent two days without a kitty and he was worried about me! He's the one without a kitty. I am a great big jerkface. He should be the one who is upset. I mean, of course he is sad, but he has this tendency to be a peppy optimist, so he's looking at the bright side, telling me things like, "I still have one kitty!"
In the meantime, I have tried to resign as El Presidente. LCG is Vice Presidente, so I offered to turn my duties over to him, since I have lost fifty percent of my constituency. (I'm not El Presidente at my own house. My cat is more of a strange little sidekick than a follower.) LCG told me that El Presidente is a lifetime appointment. Since this is the case, I am going to use my presidential power to declare a period of mourning for Cockeyed Kitty. And even though Rule Of Etiquette Number Three is assigned to rock stars, it is my site and I can do whatever I want, so I am extending the rule to include kitty cats. Even though Cockeyed Kitty was not a person, she was a good friend, and I will miss her.