Tis with great sadness that my wife and I took our 20-year-old cat, Chairman Mao, to the vet one last time. She was the first ever pet we got together and carried herself like a dictator for all her years.
Originally a scrapper from the Grahamstown SPCA she could hold her own in a fight or staring match and could transition from bush cat to house cat with an ease that made us think it was all part of a larger plan she had laid out for our lives and careers to naturally progress in a way that benefitted her.
Chairman held within her a level of resentment which allowed her to look at you like you represented a piece of shit that had been expelled by a larger piece of shit. She owned two Rottweilers as pets in her 20 years on this earth and carried herself down the road in front of the local felines in a way that impressed upon them that if her claws didn't end them the jaws of her trusty dog would deliver the coup de grace.
She also honed her life skills, learning how to masterfully collapse your windpipe with one jab in the morning to wake you for food.
She slowed down in her twilight years, preferring a couch to the eviscerated bodies of her victims and tolerated the affections of our two boys with a look somewhere between utter disgust and grudging happiness.
Chairman Mao, may the clouds be your litter box from where you can crap down on this world you left behind.
Originally a scrapper from the Grahamstown SPCA she could hold her own in a fight or staring match and could transition from bush cat to house cat with an ease that made us think it was all part of a larger plan she had laid out for our lives and careers to naturally progress in a way that benefitted her.
Chairman held within her a level of resentment which allowed her to look at you like you represented a piece of shit that had been expelled by a larger piece of shit. She owned two Rottweilers as pets in her 20 years on this earth and carried herself down the road in front of the local felines in a way that impressed upon them that if her claws didn't end them the jaws of her trusty dog would deliver the coup de grace.
She also honed her life skills, learning how to masterfully collapse your windpipe with one jab in the morning to wake you for food.
She slowed down in her twilight years, preferring a couch to the eviscerated bodies of her victims and tolerated the affections of our two boys with a look somewhere between utter disgust and grudging happiness.
Chairman Mao, may the clouds be your litter box from where you can crap down on this world you left behind.