It was 2 years ago today we lost our beloved grey flannel meatloaf of a cat.
Last year on this day I told Mao tse Cat stories and talked about how Mark and I had once thought of making a little "virtual shrine" of a web site for the boy where people could share their favorite memories.
As I always say, Mao was a big cat. 18 pounds of bone crushing, organ piercing love. But he was also a very calm cat. He was chatty, but not the hair covered wiggins Nemo was.
One of my favorite things about Mao was that he seemed to be aware that he was a large mammal and that he needed to be gentle with "smaller" creatures. We could fuck with him almost endlessly with very few clawy repercussions. We'd carry him around. He'd let us rub his belly. Occasionally he would be unamused, but usually instead of striking back he would run away or stalk off with something very much like embarrassment written all over his grey herringbone hide.
The only time he took no prisoners was when he was on "HIS" stair.
Our second apartment with Mao had an open spiral staircase and his spot was exactly halfway up. From there he could watch the front door, peep into the kitchen, roll over to look into the living room or gaze upwards to see the bedrooms and bathroom. In other words, he could survey his entire kingdom from that perch.
And when we walked up and played with is feet or tail he would rain down furry vengence upon us.
Woza, Mao. Rise up. Live again.
I miss you very, very much.