It was a sad day at our house today. Bozz, my handsome but toothless tabby made his last trip to the vet for that little something to ease him to the other side. He was just a few months shy of 17 years old. Bozz was my Mother's Day gift back in 1998, chosen just for me by my son, who was 16 at the time, and Mr. T. It was their big conspiracy, choosing a cat for me. I had wanted my own cat for the longest time, and when they presented me with a mewing box on Mother's Day, I opened it and burst into tears. Bozz purred from that first moment I picked him up and he purred up until he had no purr left.
He was a gypsy cat, moving with us from Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, to Juneau, Alaska. Then to the Georgia coast and on again to his last stop here in Oregon. BIG MOVES, each one, but he was a trooper, even though he would scatter every time he heard the jingle of the truck keys. He was pretty sure that meant that he was going for another long, long ride.
He was never a lap cat, but if he felt like it he just might sit next to me. But in the last 6 months he made it his business to be the lap cat that I had always wanted. My butt would barely hit something solid before he was on my lap, and purring, of course.
They say that all dogs go to heaven. I'm hoping that there is also room there for my handsome old tabby. Bozz liked dogs...