Jan 19, 2010


It was in September of 1999.  I was staying with my father, helping him, and him helping me, when I developed what we used to call women's problems.  I had just had a DC and came home.  Lying on my bed, my sister Geraldine stuck her head in the door, and said, "Do you want this?"  I said, "What?" and she placed a small grey kitten on my chest.  Of course I went crazy over him, and said, "Yes, yes!!"  She had found him in the FasChek parking lot.  I looked at him and decided I would name him Roscoe.

He turned out to be one of the smartest cats I ever seen.  He was adventurous, but cautious in his own way.  He soon became the king cat in the house.  My father's cats, Barney and Clyde, and LuLu Bell looked at him with disdain.  The outside cat, that one one else could touch but Daddy, chased him whenever he went outside.

I remember the day he came running in the house, meowing his head off, covered in cobwebs.  Evidently the outside cat, named Kitten, had chased him under the old smokehouse.  I laughed and wiped the cobwebs off of him, calling him my little Roscadoodle.  Daddy, who couldn't hear at all by this time, listened as I told him I named him Roscoe, and immediately said, "Let's call him Cedric."  I said ok.  So for about two years, Roscoe had two names, Roscoe and Cedric. 

He was fascinated by the Racoons that used to come up on the back porch at night and eat whatever they could find.  I would chase them off, as we left out trash cans out there.  We finally devised a way to racoon proof our trash cans, but they still visited the porch.  A few of them I got to know.  The huge mail, beautiful, unafraid.  The wiry little female who always seemed ragged and worn.  Sometimes she would bring her babies with her, and they we absolutely the cutest things in the world.  Roscoe hated them all.

One night I heard a commotion and looked out to see the whole freaking family out on the porch.  They got in a fight and ran under the porch, and Roscoe ran right under there with them.  I figured that was the last of Roscoe, but, no, he just went under to watch. 

He would spy on my brother Buddy, who he disliked, for hours.  Just sitting outside his tool shed, peaking through a crack, while Buddy went about his mechanical business.  He liked my sister-in-law pretty well, and Geraldine.  But he was really my cat.

He was so attuned to my moods.  He knew when I cried, for he would come to comfort me.  He knew when something was different, for he would come to me and tell me.  Many is the morning I have woken up with him sitting on my chest, touching my face with his paw. 

When I left West Virginia to move to Virginia I left him with  my sister for a year.  Shortly after I moved here in 2005, I lost my son, and I went back to WV when my sister died, in 2006.  Roscoe was still there, and felt so bad for leaving him there.  He was skinny, but I knew my sister had done the best she could for him.  I brought him back to Virginia with me, him in his cat carrier, meowing his head off for 6 and half hours.

He quickly established himself in the house as the top cat again.  Though much smaller than the cat my son had given me, Sasha, he bossed her around as much as possible.  Like before, if he didn't want her on the bed at night, he picked a fight with her, and ran her off.   Sometimes, though, he would spend a lot of time grooming her. 

My neighbors soon learned that Roscoe was my "little boy", and he was here for me again.  He began getting sick about three months ago.  He had stomach cancer.  I cried when he died, and I still cry when I think about him.  He was so very, very special to me.  Sometimes I still think I here him at night, but I guess that's to be expected.  When I go to the kitchen, I expect him to follow me, and watch what I'm doing. 

There are many, many more memories of Roscoe.  Such as the Christmas he spent jumping in and out of the Christmas tree, until me and Daddy had to secure it to the wall.  Actually, Daddy's last Christmas.

I love you Roscoe, and I think there must be a special place for you somewhere.

Roscoe Cedric

September 1999-January 2010


SJ said...

Awww thats so sad :(

just me said...

Yes, it is. Thanks for stoppng by.

Spadoman said...

I had a dog once, for 16 years. That was the only pet that was mine. We saved many a cat and dog from the neighboring farmers shotgun, but these were all superficial animals that never really made it into the house as "my pet". My daughter had Jack, a great dog pal that I loved, but Jack stayed around now and again, but he wasn't my dog.
Last year, we tried an experiment with Zeke. Zeke was a husky rescue dog and one front leg amputated. He was a pain in the ass, but I love him. But he kept wanting to run and no matter how hard we tried to keep him on a chain,he broke off and cost me 2 tickets at $86.00 a piece. So, I letb him go back to my daughter's farm to live with the other dogs, all huskies, all runners.
Then she dropped off this cat. He had no name. People abandoned her at the pet store/hospital where she works, (Pet Smart, Banfield pet care hospital national chain).
I named her Mexicat. Spayed and neutered and the front claws taken off. Mexicat and I are friends. She pisses me off as she follows me everywhere and is underfoot. My damn belly is so damn fat that I don't see her and trip all the time. Then I yell because I almost killed the damn thing by stepping on her. She does a lot of things, but only pays attention to me.
I'm sorry you lost your cat friend. There is no point to my story except it is about 2 a.m. and I am up after another bad dream and needed someone to talk to. You told me you're my friend, so I came here to visit.
Thanks for listening. I pray for peace for our hearts.

just me said...

You visit me anytime you want to. Your comments and spin on life always makes me think and appreciate the world around me just a little bit more.

Roscoe did the same thing to me. He had to know what I was doing always. I really miss that little cat.