We said goodbye to our 20 year old cat, Grendel Graymalkin Kagemusha Sparks, this morning. He had been with me since he was just a few weeks old; he was born to a feral cat who lived under my grandfather's potato shed, and during Hurricane Opal he was rescued from the storm by my parents, who fed him and his two siblings with an eyedropper until they could catch the mother cat. In his prime he was an 18 pounder and an avid catcher of insects. He had fixed opinions about laps, fresh water, and the best spot to take a nap. He was, in the words of Samuel Johnson, "a very fine cat indeed," and we are going to miss him.
I don't think I can bear to watch them this Halloween, but if you happen to watch
The Black Cat (1934) or
The Black Cat (1941), spare a moment to think of our dear old boy, whom we were lucky to call our own for so many years.
Rest in peace, fuzzy kitty boy.
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