Mister lived fast and hard, an unapologetic heathen on a constant pursuit of physical pleasure and comfort.
He lived for cuddles, caresses and food.
Mr. Purrs-A-Lot came from a clowder of feral cats in Collinsville. One night as we dropped off my daughter’s friend, this scraggly black kitten walked right up to us in the middle of a road. On a whim we took him with us, in shock at what we had done. We did not need a third cat.
My daughter spent a few days trying on different names inspired by his color – “Midnight,” “Blackie,” “Asher” – until she confidently proclaimed: “He purrs all the time. His name is Mr. Purrs-A-Lot.”
He never stopped purring. As soon as we’d arrive home from work or school, he would hop up on a lap, raise up on his hind legs and hug the lucky one around the neck with his front paws, rubbing his head against the person’s neck.
Then he’d spend all day, and all night, sitting on the lap of one of us, then the other. He made it hard to use the computer on the sofa or even hold a book, but it was worth it.
Mr. Purrs-A-Lot ate and ate and ate and grew and grew and grew. For years we laughed at how fat he was.
Until it wasn’t funny anymore. Nine years of gluttony caught up with him.
Around Christmas he didn’t seem as fat as he normally was. Then one day in January he stopped eating.
Tests revealed that he had kidney disease. We went home with the prescription medicine and the prescription food and the confidence that we all could ride this out for the next few years.
But instead of getting better, he got worse. We saw our little bundle of love suffer, and nothing we did offered relief.
A mere five days after the diagnosis, Mister was gone. He chose to live life fully, and when he was done, he was done: No dragging it on.
Nearly a decade went by in the blink of an eye: the splendid cat; and also my daughter’s childhood, and my middle-aged years. Never again will the three of us be piled up together in a corner of the sofa, just relishing each other’s company.
Mr. Purrs-A-Lot, the heartbeat of our household, betrayed us. He died young, pushed to the edge by his gluttonous eating which apparently was too much for his body to handle.
But oh what a life he led. He never passed up a moment’s opportunity for pleasure.
What a treasure of a cat, who had the personality of a dog – pure loyalty, and attention and affection – and what a strange, nearly missed twist of fate that brought him to us.
We are glad to have given this otherwise doomed stray the kingly life he so clearly thought he deserved.
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I wrote that during that sad week, last month. While we were mourning our once-in-a-lifetime magnificent a friend asked if we would get another cat.
Another cat? We had two others. But no cat ever in the history of catdome had been as unique and marvelous as Mister.
However, there has been an unexpected shift in the dynamics of our household.
Now that Mister is not here anymore, the other two cats can shine. Sprinkles doesn’t like any other cat, so she stays in the closet all day and evening while Blondie, the affable one, sits with us – not on top of us, like Mister did, but next to us. Then Sprinkles stays the night in one of our rooms (admittedly, bribed there with cat treats and the transition made easier by her wearing a cat-calming collar).
Apparently, Mister just never gave them a chance. And now he has bowed out gracefully to let them enjoy being pet cats for a while.
