THE STORY OF CHARLIE THE TUXEDO CAT:
Charlie came to us via my fave Aunt, Ria. She lived on the outskirts of the city, near the rougher neighborhoods. Somehow, this little Holstein cat latched on to her, and wormed his way into her life. My aunt had three cats all ready. Her husband - not particularly cat friendly.
She decided this nice boy was too sweet to surrender to the pound. He had a tattoo in his ear, but it was very difficult to decipher. She worked on it while volunteering at the humane society, and finally came up with a string of contacts. He had been passed from owner to owner until he ended up about a 30 minute drive from the city limits. Lived in the country. The problem with him was...he wandered. They decided they would not like him back, and asked her to surrender him to the shelter. She had other ideas. I was a sucker who needed another cat. A cat with a white mustache named Charlie. About the fifth black and white cat in a succession of black and whites in my childhood. But none of them had a mustache. nor did they appear to be wearing a tuxedo.
So we get Charlie home. Home was with my parents...Big J and I were dating, but hadn't moved out yet. Home was not a nice place by any stretch of the imagination. But having this little lover of a cat really helped get me through some very lonely times. He has sopped up more tears with his fur than any stuffed animal I have ever had.
The other cat, Frisco was nasty. He lived for stalking Charlie and biting him in the ass. Oh that cat was just a grouch - he would attack us too. He thought he was the shit. But he was just a big fat bugger and Charlie had his number. When Frisco would chase Charlie, Charlie would run and jump through the stairway rails. And Frisco would get stuck. Othertimes, Charlie would run to the top of the stairs and gracefully land on the thin railing at the top. Frisco would flop right over.
Finally, Big J and I moved out and Charlie got some peace. Young and stuggling, we lived in cheap ass basement suites for the first few years. Poor Charlie longed for window that could open. He was constantly looking out the window, wishing he was "side". When we would take him for walks, at the great risk of looking like complete retards and getting beat up by our neighbors, we'd say "Charlie - wanna go 'side?" and he would come straight to the door and flop over. When he was happy and truly in his element - he was prone to flopping over. Sometimes with hilarious results.
He escaped a lot. I don't know how we never lost him. I remember one time, at the last place I we rented, I thought he was lost to us. I even made up posters...only to find him a couple hours later lost and meowing his ass off at the other end of the complex. What a bastard. And I thought I had cried hard then.
Another time, same place, we didn't realize he had even escaped. Jer and I are sitting watching TV in the dark. There was a very bright 'street light' out front of our condo. The curtains were closed, and we notice this shadow of a cat on the window ledge. I open the window, and start laughing at how closely it looks like our cat...Charlie? Where is Charlie? Oh shit...That is Charlie. He had been out there for hours! We lived by two very busy streets. I can't believe we didn't lose him.
Charlie is the biggest lap slut on the planet. The few times we have had people over, he just goes from lap to lap to lap. Always with the but in the face. And he's not embarrassed to intrude and make an ass of himself. We are all his territory after all.
He likes to ride the office chair. Charlie has this passion for a chair Jer brought into our relationship. It's your everyday student chair, with a tweedy fabric cover. Charlie always liked to jump up on it and pretend to sharpen his claws on the backrest. MDH discovered that he enjoyed it just that much better if you spun the chair. He would actually jump up and wait for you to spin it. Such a funloving cat.
Passionate about rubber bands. I haven't ever heard of this before - but my cat would go gaga over rubbers. Anything rubber, but let us stick with the band story. One time, we had this horrible room mate. Friend of Big J's. His brother (Good kid - told Jeremy I had a nice ass once. Forever in my good books) left his jacket on our couch upstairs, and went downstairs to hang out with his brother. His pockets had holes in them. I came into the livingroom to find my cat completely stuck in the lining of his jacket! The loot? a handful of rubber bands that the coats owner hadn't ever realized were there.
Charlie meowed constantly for wet food - even though we never fed it too him (except for thanksgiving and xmas, cuz it's only fair they get their turkey too!). Man that cat could hear you open a can of soup though. And it you were taking a small plate for a sandwich - he would assume that was for his wet food too. But call him while he was napping - and you would be lucky if he even opened an eye.
He had this heart stopping habit of standing on top of me. He always had to be on me. Jer he could lie beside. Me he had to stand lie or sit on. He loved to stand on my chest while I slept with his little cat face inches from mine. He knew eventually, his caustic breath would cause me to stir. And I would open my eyes, only to be startled half to death. I think he secretly relished being flung through the air.
I'll really miss my little friend. I can think of times when I have been so miserable and desolate, and he would sense it. He'd come along and purr his little heart out, force me to love him. And it's hard to remain feeling so bleak when he would be so damn content. I really believe there are times he saved my life. I wish I could have repaid the favour.
Cheers to a damn fine cat.
>^..^<
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