Mr. Scotty-face Is Gone

(Don't read this if you can't stand people getting all maudlin about their pets.)

Late yesterday afternoon Dan and I had to give our cat Scotty the best help we could offer, as he suddenly stopped eating Tuesday, and started crawling under the bed. Yesterday morning we wondered if we were wrong because he came back out to us, and was eating and drinking a little. But he was so very weak. And as heartbreaking as this was ... and it was ... it was time to let him go.

I called him Scotty-face because the first time I saw him he was a huge fluffy cat with lethal-sized polydactyl paws (and claws), whose face looked sort of, well, mean. But it was trick lighting or the particular striped patterns on his face, or something, because he was the sweetest cat in the world. He was a great reminder to not judge based on first impressions.

Another wonderful thing about him, and (maybe) about Maine Coon cats, generally, is that not only was he a champion purrer, but he had a distinctive little chirp at the end of each purr. I'd never heard anything like it, even after a lifetime with cats, and it was endearing. I'd hold him with his head on my shoulder and listen to him chirp, and I'd chirp back. Sometimes we both dozed off like that.

We only took him in as a stray four years ago, but he gave us a lifetime of delight in his presence. He is missed terribly.