I had a cat once.

His name was Ivan. Short for Ivanhoe. The product of a romantic interlude between my 6 pound tortoiseshell and the neighbor’s ten pound long haired white Persian. Popa’s genes were the stronger and he turned out pure white with one green eye and one blue. Wonderfully affectionate, but impossible to keep inside.

I would amuse myself for hours watching him stalk birds in the back yard. Picture a ten pound cat with three inch long white hair creeping on his belly across a new mown lawn toward the sparrows picking seeds from the trimmings. The closer he got the more excited he became. The more excited he became the more agitated his tail became. When he was almost within striking distance his tail would stand straight up and flip back and forth like a weather vane in a tornado. That was the signal for the birds to leave.

He kept going out and getting in fights with the other neighborhood cats so we had him neutered. He gained a quick six pounds and not much of it was fat. He still went out. I don’t think he remembered why but he did. Only he didn’t get any more scars and there were a number of former neighborhood bullies walking with a decided limp.

I’d come home in the evening and call him in for dinner. From somewhere down the block I’d hear his loud raspy voice telling me that he was on the way in his usual slow motion mosey. About thirty seconds into his two-minute journey I’d hear a small dog yapping followed by high pitched howling that told me Ivan was two doors down. That dog never did learn.

My career took me to other places and Ivan wasn’t able to make the trip with me for various reasons. He became the charge of our next door neighbor who had long been an alternate haven when the weather went bad or when he felt the need for affection in the middle of the day. As far as I know his habits remained the same.

One day I got a letter from Ivan’s adoptive caretaker. He was never really owned by anyone, he just allowed us to care for him. She told me that Ivan had met his end the same way he lived his life. He was coming home after she called him, walking down the middle of the street as if he owed it. You can probably guess the rest. To the last he absolutely refused to yield ground regardless of the size of his adversary. Too bad this one weighed five thousand pounds.

He sounds like a wonderful beast. :hug:

Mighty to the end! :cry: