In memory of Malcolm

It was a very sad day, September 15th. Our cat, Malcolm, needed to be put to sleep.

His mother, Spooky, and his sister, Timber, had gone before him and he lived several months past fourteen years of age. After the death of his sister, he acquired cataracts in both eyes and his bad hip became more pronounced. He was the runt of the bunch and Joe used to carry him in his shirt pocket. He grew to be the biggest one, though. Malcolm was gentle and sweet and funny. When he was really little, we came home to find him running through the apartment with a cigarette butt between his lips; when we followed him we discovered he had taken a number of butts and placed them in a pile under the kitchen table, along with one of my fingernail files.

He would get the ‘midnight crazies’ and run from the bedroom to the patio railing and back again, stopping just long enough to give you a look like ‘catch me if you can’. He enjoyed driving me nuts when I didn’t pay attention to him by jumping up on the coffee table and plopping down right in front of my view to the television. He used to sleep at the foot of the bed until he was the only cat around and then, he would sleep next to me with his head on my pillow and covered up. I loved that; I miss that now.

Malcolm loved to eat treats and Joe began calling him ‘Kitty Pig’ and ‘Moose’ because of it.

Now that all the cats are gone, the apartment seems so lonely and strange. We miss them all tremendously and will carry them in our hearts forever and forever. There really isn’t anything quite like the love of an animal that shares your journey through life. I only hope we were good enough ‘guardians’ for them.

See ya later, dear and treasured friends. Thank you all for being a part of our lives and enriching it so immensely.