Goodbye, Pyro

You were with us from the beginning of our relationship. When we adopted you from Animal Care & Control, you were a scrappy, partially shaven earmite infested fighter of a cat. You earned your name because you had been rescued from a fire and had singed the tips of your ears. You were homeless--living on the street by your wits. Accustomed to dumpster diving for food, you had developed a stomach of steel. (or so we thought) We admired your agility, your playfulness and your intelligence. Unlike other cats we'd met, you enjoyed nothing better than to lie on your back and have us rub your big belly.
You trusted us. We took care of you. We rubbed aloe on your wounds and put medicine on your ears and you rewarded us with licks and loving purrs. When you wanted attention, you'd come in to our bedroom and very carefully poke my closed eyelids with claws partially extended or press the answering machine button to wake us.

In those days we were doing a lot of travelling, so we got you a companion so you'd be less lonely. Maya added years to your life and made you less neurotic when we left town. Adopting Maya was like bringing you a mail order bride.

When M was born you were slightly less enthused but eventually you adjusted. Maybe you understood that our attention had shifted from animals to children. Or maybe you were starting to age. You defended your corner of the chair. You always put up a fight (claws extended) when we brought you in for your annual shots. You earned the coveted "skull and crossbones" sticker on your health chart for being too dangerous to handle...but you let me and only me clip your nails.

You've been a good companion, Pyro. We will miss you.


(This is S's napkin drawing of what our cats would look like if they were human)