The Adventures of Bloggard

Mount Shasta, California, Memorial Day, May 28, 2007: My cat Percy was found in the Mendocino countryside by a short-term roommate when I lived in Mill Valley. The roommate was moving and I asked to keep the kitten.

“Sure,” said the roommate.

There we lived with Morgan, my durn ol kitty, who liked the kitten, and taught him such cat wisdom as she could. Then we moved and became trailer trash in San Rafael. Percy the kitten grew quickly into a long-legged male with yellow eyes, and a short gray coat. Together they roamed the trailer park. There Percy discovered a vile enemy. Black cat.

Black cat, and Percy had many rumbles. It was a scandal.

At the end of the day, as the sun sunk slowly over Toys ‘R Us, I’d step from the trailer and whistle loudly twice. From somewhere up the way would come wandering Morgan and Percy, tired from the day’s toil, and ready for supper.

And then we moved to San Anselmo.

Dangers of San Anselmo

We’d been invited to live with Adrienne and the dog Tulip. Morgan and Percy spent three days locked in the bathroom while Tulip went ballistic outside the door. And when Tulip became used to them living in the bathroom we introduced them all around, and as expected they became fast friends. Tulip and Percy invented a complicated and fun game which involved who could get their paws around the rungs of a chair. This game made Tulip smile.

We weren’t sure how trailer-trash cats would fare in this more upscale neighborhood, but you’d never know their origins from their behavior, as if they’d always been ritzy cats.

And then in his travels around the neighborhood, Percy discovered an evil enemy. Orange cat.

There were fabled rumbles. It was a scandal.

The Reinforcements: Tulip and Me

When the sounds of battle arose, Tulip leaped up as if electrified and ran out the door, followed swiftly by myself. There, in the distance of the driveway, the two battling cats froze, as Orange cat stared in growing horror at Tulip bearing down the driveway, and at myself on the deck.

(I waved my arms and gibbered like a wild ape and made loud growling threats, as is proper.)

Flying away into the underbrush, Orange cat beat a hasty retreat.

Percy, his tail much larger than usual, stormed grouchily into the house. We told him that he was whipping Orange cat’s butt, though sometimes that wasn’t totally clear.

The Big Yellow Truck

And so we lived, and then in time packed a household into the Big Yellow Truck, and Percy into his cat carrier, and moved to Mount Shasta. He complained all the way. Morgan had left us in San Anselmo, so she couldn’t make the ride.

Percy and Tulip enjoyed the yard, and Percy discovered that the railing and the apple tree led to the roof, and like a pirate of old, he kept a weather eye on the neighborhood.

It was not long, wandering the neighborhood, before Percy discovered a dreadful enemy. Striped cat.

There were wild rumbles. It was a scandal.

Warfare in Mount Shasta

He’s been happy in Mount Shasta. He likes the weather, except for the snow, which he blames on me, and he likes the water. He likes watching the birds. He leaps the gate to the fence, and comes and goes, and in the twilight can usually be found on the front porch steps, watching passers-by. When he’s not there, I whistle loudly twice, and then I call his special call.

This is his name with a loud gargle in the middle, and then “What you doin, boy?” These sound wacky and perplexes the neighbors no doubt. However, the sound carries, and he comes trotting from some errand in the vacant-lot woods behind George Brown’s house.

In the night, he likes to slip into my room where he snores on my chest until I fall asleep, and then, offended when I begin my own snoring, he scratches at the door so I have to awaken and let him out.

Then he goes to Adrienne’s room, and there entertains her during the night.

Nemesis

Today, he appeared to have an intestinal blockage, as he’s had before. He’s fifteen, which is latter days for a male cat. I found a vet willing to help us on this holiday, and so I bagged him up in the carrier, and assured him that he’d be right as rain soon.

But the vet had other news. Serious and bad news. It was something else. Percy was very lethargic. In my way, I asked him if he could get well. He said no.

I stayed with him while the deadly injection made its way to slow and still his breathing. Tough fellow, his heart beat on and on, growing weaker. I stroked his face the way he likes, and I told him how grateful I’ve been for his hanging out with me all these years. I reminded him of our many adventures. And finally, he was gone.

The world is a smaller place without him. Percy was his name. A great warrior. My good buddy.