The cats

Edgar shows his nice side

Goodbye, Rusty

Last night I had to say goodbye to an old friend.

Rusty and I lived with each other for nearly all of her nineteen years, even before Miz Becky and I started dating. I got her as a kitten, after she wandered onto a classmate's property out in the country. She could fit in my hand at the beginning, and I was immediately devoted to her.

At her last exam, four or five months ago, our vet said "At her age, most of her contemporaries have been dead for six years." And over the last several years, as Rusty passed sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, she seemed like she would go on forever. A little grayer, a little arthritic, maybe a little deaf (or just better at ignoring me), she could still sprint across the lawn like a young cat, even if she was the equivalent of 95 in human years.

And then about two months ago, she started fading out, as old cats do. She got lighter, and spent more time sitting in corners and under tables. In the last two weeks she'd been vomiting up hairballs, which we figured was just her usual end of summer shedding and puking ritual.

Two days ago, she took a turn for the worse, and last night we decided we had to at least get her some pain meds. I took her to the emergency clinic down the hill from us, and after a careful examination, the vet told me what I mostly expected: Rusty had some kind of large mass in her chest, and although we could probably make her comfortable for a few days, it was unlikely to be the kind of thing she was going to get better from.

Miz Becky and I had already talked about this possibilty before I left the house, and we had decided that we were ready to let Rusty go. The vet made all of her preparations, and I filled out paperwork and talked to Rusty.

She left peacefully, in my arms, at about 6:30.

I thought I had lost her once before, just after I moved to the Seattle area, when we were living in a house in the woods on Bainbridge Island. She ran out an open door and spent a week pretending to be a wild cat. I'd whistle for her when I was outside and would sometimes hear her typical chirrup sound in response, but I could never see her. One day as I got home from work I whistled as usual and heard her chirrup, much closer than she had been. I looked around and saw her sitting daintily on a log, licking her paw and looking back at me. I slogged thirty feet through the salal and sword ferns and picked her up. She was in perfect health; I expect she had been having a grand time hunting for her food and drinking water off leaves.

Besides her sweet personality, Rusty was also the fastest cat I've ever known. She'd sit in the bathtub after we had showered in the morning and snatch water droplets out of the air:

After The Kid was born, many people told us that our cats were going to become little mothers to her, acting protective or at least curious. Rusty, already a grand dame at sixteen, didn't bother to. She wasn't at all interested in The Kid, pro or con.

She eventually allowed The Kid to come close and pet her. The Kid called her Tutu Rusty, and I think Rusty was OK with that.

Goodbye, old friend. Good kitty. Good kitty.

Wait a minute... that's not an empty bag!

Waiting his turn

Don't go into the light, there, buddy

Kittens 9

... and that's all I have. If you need to see more of these little guys, you can always check out M's own photos of the kittens.

Kittens 8

OK, so I had a couple more than a week's worth. Never fear, we'll be back to mopey and arty soon enough.

Kittens 7

Kittens 6

Kittens 5

Was I right? You can't handle this cuteness.

Kittens 4

Kittens 3

Kittens 2

You can't handle the cute: A week of kittens

See, M&T are fostering this mama cat, and she was pregnant, and had kittens. And they're adorable. And when Miz Becky and The Kid and I went to visit them last month, not only was there ludicrous amounts of cute, but we were also blessed with beautiful light in the room where the kittens were hanging out.

If I remember correctly, this is mama.

In any event, as a public service to those of you in the United States who are desperately looking for some way to survive thanksgiving, you'll have kittens to keep you going.

Rusty enjoys a snooze under the dining room table

Still hopeful

Always hopeful

Sun Suite 2

Why would you think we spoil our cats?

Edgar thinks the window is teevee

I keel you.

Eventually Edgar got tired of this little game. Go figure.

Felix, or not

I've always associated those vertical-line-pupils with Felix the Cat, but as you'll see if you follow that link... not so much. Anyone know who I'm actually thinking of?

Viper

A week of Mr. Edgar

From the sublime to the ridiculous... I think I'll follow up those lovely artifacts from the UBC MOA with a week of EXTREME CLOSEUP: EDGAR THE CAT, starring your friend and mine, plus my 17mm lens stuffed in his face.

Edgar wants to be even more pampered than he already is in his enviable position as "cat".

Yes, the adorable niece and her bearers were in town last weekend, and Mr. Edgar wasted no time trying to find out if a baby's life was even more luxurious than his.

Another in a long series of photos of Edgar in silhouette

Once again, Edgar demonstrates the expression "graphically strong"

Edgar snakes around the corner

Edgar likes his bag

I had a couple of bags out on the bed, and was putting clothes to take to goodwill in one. Edgar jumped up on the bed to investigate, crawled into the other one, and stayed there for a few hours, hanging out in his cave.

Shredgar demonstrates how he got his nickname

Ahh, a cat in his natural environment. A box.

Note, if you will, the little shard of cardboard flying through the air in the last photo. Action!

Edgar waits patiently at the counter for his snack

Edgar wiggles

Ah, the life of a cat. Lucky little $)(*)(*!#s.

Rusty shows her distinguished profile

Rusty and I hung out this afternoon

Yet again, cats and sun

Rusty carefully calibrates her sun usage:

Meanwhile, Mr. Still-has-plenty-of-spunk Edgar once again demonstrates "graphically strong":

The cats engage in their version of a tense standoff

What the cats do all day

This shows the essential interaction of our little fuzzy housemates: Rusty explores, Edgar stalks.

The cats enjoy the sun

I stayed home today, after having inevitably caught the nasty cold that's going around. In between naps and working from home, I stalked the cats.

Apparently I'm placing the subject in the right-hand side of the frame this week.

Edgar demonstrates the design expression "graphically strong"

Ten faces of Edgar

He was on my shoulder... I had a camera in my hand... what could I do?

Rusty looks noble in the sun

Sometimes, Edgar just wants the world to go away.

Edgar gets down with his funky self

Caught in the act, Mr. Edgar demonstrates some of his moves, showing how he earned the nickname Wigglebean (1.1mb, Windows Media format).

And Edgar again!

Edgar gets down with his funky self

It's been a while since we've had a weird Edgar photo, hasn't it.

Cat stylist

Janel is the only person I know who can get cats to participate in her vision.

Perching

Miz Becky and I were just out on a walk around our neighborhood, and discovered this uncomfortable-looking cat trying to find somewhere to sit in the branches of this tree.

The many faces of Rusty

Pensive:

Curious:

Befuddled:

Resentful:

Finished with this little game:

Rusty gets her nap on

Cat Names

Edgar
Edgarino
Shredgar
Dipshit
Cletus (the slack-jawed kitty)
Pookie
Pookarino
Pookaroo
Pook-laroo
Pook LaRue, the cowboy poet

Rusty
Rustabus
Fuzzy butt
The Princess (pronounced prins-ESS)

The little furry masters

Nice place to sleep

I wake up at 6:00. I head for the shower. I come out of the shower and slide open the closet door to put my clothes in the laundry basket. And who glares up at me because I woke him up?

A couple of big-head-Edgar photos

It's nice to see him enjoying the new cat tree. He wasn't using it for a while after we got it — preferring to hang out on the back of the wingback chair and leave his hair there.

Last weekend, though, I took care of Janel's cats while she and Vince were in Vancouver. Part of her instructions involved giving Tio "as much catnip as he wants". When I brought the jar over to where he was sitting by the window, he ran back to where the jar had been sitting on the floor and rolled over on his back, looking for all the world like a catnip ho waiting for a fix.

As I rode the bus home, I realized that he had run back to where he had been getting the catnip — maybe that would make Edgar use the cat tree!

One good dusting of catnip later, and he started interacting with it... playing on it... finally last night he decided that he'd rather sleep in the cat tree than with us in the bed.

Sometimes the little furry bastards give us the illusion that we're in control.

Poor Mr. Edgar

He can't help looking like a doof.

Lest you think this is an isolated look and that I'm giving false impressions... here are some more moments from the same shoot:

Squirming cat triptych

The cats deal with the heat

It got up into the 90's here in Seattle yesterday, which meant that at midnight it was 83°F (28°C) in the house. The cats were... not pleased. Perhaps it had something to do with their fashionable fur coats.

Rusty found herself a nice cool piece of slate to lie on:

Whereas Mr. Edgar, the more new-agey of our cats, decided to try yoga.

Those of you who have been to our house will immediately note that neither of the cats have the good sense to head to the basement, where it's easily 15°F (8°C) cooler than upstairs.

Your author, of course, being a happy island boy, was diggin' it.

Edgar at rest, this morning

Mr. Edgar explores the underworld

Ever wonder what your cats look like when they hide under the sheets while you're making the bed?

Miz Becky thinks he looks like a naked mole rat.

Mr. Edgar, again

By popular demand, an older image of Mr. Edgar from October of 2001:

Really, he's a handsome devil most of the time. I just catch him when he's chillin' in his crib, as the kids say these days.

Not his brightest look

Poor Mr. Edgar... a couple of days ago I showed him in a position of power... now I show him with his guard down.

Who's in control?

No, the cats don't run our lives. Why do you ask?

Oh, uh, well, you see...

Sunny afternoon

After a very wet morning, it's turned into a beautiful afternoon here in Seattle.

And Mr. Edgar, that handsome devil, is enjoying the sun by baking between the glass and solid doors at the back of the house.