Dear Chester

Dear Chester,

You were the nicest cat I knew. You ran away when you were very young,
because you got scared when we moved to a new house, and your mother
was territorial.

A year later, you came back. It was pouring rain outside. You went
back to our old house. You were cold, meowing and thin.

When we brought you to our new home, you immediately ran down to the
basement. You stayed down there for several months. We called you "The
Phantom of the Basement."

You emerged slowly, with caution. Then your mother passed away, and
you suddenly became social and plump!

You liked to go outside, but more than anythingl, you liked to be pet.
We still have marks on the corners of our walls where you would rub
your head. In your times of solitude, this seemed to be a suitable
substitute for a human hand.

Most nights you would sleep in my room. You slept on my pillow, near
my head. You would stay there until I feel asleep, and then invariably
dart to the door just as I entered dreamland. Then you would meow and
scratch at the door, until I got up to let you out. Not funny,
Chester!

Sometimes early in the morning I would hear you meowing from outside
my window. I wouldn't want to go all the way downstairs to let you in,
but I always gave in. You could evoke pity like no other cat I had
met.

When I let you in, you would race upstairs to my room and force your
head under my hands to be pet.

When Ivy came along, you begrudgingly accepted her presence. She was
soft and adorable. You were coarse and fat.

She was mean to you. Often she would walk by you, and kick you in the
face with her hind legs. You could have seriously whooped her ass. But
you didn't. You just accepted her as the bratty new kitten.

You thinned out as you got older. Then you got too thin. You still
begged for food when anyone was with you in the kitchen. But you
rarely ate it.

Even in your elder, frail state, you still liked snuggling. And you
still knew how to open doors on your big paws. Most of all, you still
loved to be pet.

You were the best big orange boy cat a girl could have. Grateful when
attended to, but also willing to slink into the background to mind
your own business.

You inspired my "Animals Are Nicer Than People" blog. On it, I said
that you did not even know the meaning of "ulterior motive."

You were too nice, Chester. Sometimes too nice for your own good. In
the cases of Ivy and Twinkle, sometimes you got stepped on.

Still, you lived a long, happy life. Everyone who knew you, loved your
big orange head and subtly robust spirit.

Rest, rest, rest in peace, my dear sweet Chester.

Love,
Sacha

PS.

Also he ate with his paw and could open doors. Smartest cat ever!
Sent from my iPhone - Barb

PPS.

On Sep 12, 2008, at 12:50 PM, Rick D Evans wrote:
Sacha ,
You did not mention that he sounds like Homer Simson when he eats.


PPPS
When I think of you, Chester, I think of the happiest cat I know. You seemed to enjoy everything - not like Ivy who complains about everything. You reminded me a lot at the end of Grandpa Charles. I can't believe you are gone. I knew it was coming, but I still need to get used to this. I had to clean up after you a lot. So, well, I won't miss that. I will miss your nice personality.


PPPPS
I'll miss how you liked to drink out of the toilet and drink any water you saw on the deck, as long it was not a cat dish. It seemed that way.
If Ivy could speak this is what she would say - I will not miss you at all, except for when I stepped on your face with my back paw. I'll also miss not being able to finish your wet food.