Ode to a Blue Russian

My headlights sweep across the entrance to the small subdivision we call home bouncing off the large concrete and brick sign and shimmering on the slick blacktop. A shadow among the shadows moves in an easy lope to the edge of our drive way and as I open the car door he sits to welcome me home. "Hello pretty kitty" I greet him and always I run my hand down his luxurious mane of blue gray hair. My three legged wonder scrambles ahead of me in that goofy walk of his caused by the absence of a back leg. He saunters down the drive way and avoids the grass.

Opening the door is always a challenge as he refuses to believe the primary physics law that two objects can not reside in the same place.

He enters the house and lays on the hip of his missing leg side and claws at the scratch tree, as if wiping his feet upon entry. Then its a mad dash to the food bowl to see if he has missed anything. Same old stuff, but he eats like he has not had a decent meal in a week. Afterwards he likes to stretch out with his legs high above his head and the bottom half of his body with only one leg arches his back to complete this ballet like pose. He looks to one side to ensure I am watching. I always stoke his soft arched back and tell him how gorgeous he is.

He follows me from room to room plunking his girth outside each door, laying on his side.

How many different sounds can this marvel make? Well, there is the "Let me out of the house " wail.

There is the low growl when he does not want to be screwed around with.

Every time Joe picks him up he lets out this long "Meoooooooowwwwwwww" that ends with a "EEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKK" at the end. Hilarious.

When he is laying around thinking little cat thoughts in this big cat head and you lay a hand on him to pet him he says, "ERRRRRRRRRRRR".

There are probably several more, like when he goes around and around your legs when you are fixing dinner asking, "what's for a cat" with another type of high pitched "meow".

He loves to poke his head in the door of the refrigerator when you open the door and at times he would crawl in to get a better look (is that chicken I spot in the corner?) and has to be nudged away. He squawks in disappointment.

At 4am he always wants out and climbs on the book shelf. If you don't respond by getting up and letting him out, he will begin to knock things to the floor to get your attention.

For some crazy reason, he would go into the bathroom attached to the bedroom and make some crazy agonizing moans, as if he heard birds on the other side of the wall and he needed out right away.

I love this cat. This cat who had extra life added when my daughter called me begging and crying for help to save him when he hurt his back leg. I did and felt like I owned a piece of this Blue Russian gluttonous bird hunting fat cat.

And that is why it has taken me a day to stop crying that his well fed and demonstrative lovable fur ball met an untimely death yesterday. How is it possible to become so attached to a cat? my husband asks me through his tears.

He was a great cat. He certainly lived his nine lives with gusto.