I still think, when I hear the cat door flip-flap in the morning, that Puck is going to make her distinctive little “hey, guys, I’m here” squeak. She really is gone and I mourn her loss but still celebrate her existence. She was a great cat and had a very happy life.
Her littermate, Phoebe, seems to have stopped looking for Puck. She has grown into a gorgeous, muscular cat with predictable behaviors…she doesn’t eat her dry food from the bowl, she flips it out, piece by piece, with her paw. When she has been outside, she comes in with a distinctive squeaky meow, greets us effusively, then runs off to eat and drink. Then she comes back to be sociable. Cat habits. Buddy (well, he was christened Pope initially, but I just couldn’t call him that) is equally predictable. Hard to believe the obstreperous beast is 14 or so…he is a Maine coon cat by build and looks (he was born in Seattle), with huge lionlike fur all over. He reminds me of Pigpen in the Charlie Brown comics…instead of a dust cloud, Buddy wears a backyard…he always has twigs and leaves in his fur when he comes for a snuggle. I suspect that he is also the one who occasionally brings me poison ivy.
Oh, speaking of which, Burt’s Bees puts out a poison ivy soap. I bought it entirely because it is Burt’s Bees, but I think I like it. It doesn’t feel as scrubby as the Tec stuff I used last year (scrubby felt good on the poison ivy, kind of like sanctioned scratching), but it sure does feel and smell good.