[Mick]

We lost my girlfriend's cat not too long ago.  His name was Gump, he weighed 20 pounds and was diabetic.  He was a black and white version of Garfield; both in physical dimensions and personality.  I miss him.

Mrs. Mick and I got a kitten from my family cat right after we got married.  Named her Licorice.  First place we bought was a third floor walkup condo.  Licorice disappeared for a week.  Six days go by, I threw out the cat food.  Day seven, she shows up at the door, having lost 1/4 to 1/3 of her body weight, had a broken leg.  Vet said probably hit by a car.  She went right to the spot for her cat food.  That night, a full can of tuna fish, treat for her, stinky apartment for us.

A few years later, we bought a house.  While we were fixing that house, Licorice stayed with my chain-smoking aunt.  At the time, all I had was a very small two seater, which did not fit Licorice's crate.  I asked the vet how to transport Licorice from aunt's house in Menlo Park to San Jose.  She said "use a pillowcase."  I was horrified.  Vet said, "pillowcase is porous so the cat can breathe, and opaque so she can't see.  She'll probably just go to sleep."

Ah, no.  First thing she did was pee everywhere.  About halfway through the trip on the freeway, I found out what "let the cat out of the bag" meant in literal terms.  She got out of the bag and started to run around the car.  Licorice decided I was to blame and started to claw me and made motions to bite me.  I grabbed her by the neck (all four sets of claws scratching), finally got her back into the bag with swear words that I don't even think were invented yet.  She was yowling the entire time.  Pulled up into the new house driveway, sweat pouring down my face, blood (mine) all over, fur sticking to me.  I let Licorice out, and she sauntered over to my wife who said "How was the trip?"  Sigh.

Five years later, we sold the house, moved one mile north to a new house.  Followed vet's instructions to keep the cat in the house or the garage for two weeks.  Did that.  Let the cat out, she escaped.  And she was gone.  For two years.  As god is my witness, she showed up two years later, on Christmas Day!  More to the story (we think the cat lady next door at the old house kidnapped her), but in the end, Licorice lived until she was 17.

I miss that cat.  She had a really great personality.  Loved everyone and wasn't shy about it.

[Mick]

We lost my girlfriend's cat not too long ago.  His name was Gump, he weighed 20 pounds and was diabetic.  He was a black and white version of Garfield; both in physical dimensions and personality.  I miss him.

Mrs. Mick and I got a kitten from my family cat right after we got married.  Named her Licorice.  First place we bought was a third floor walkup condo.  Licorice disappeared for a week.  Six days go by, I threw out the cat food.  Day seven, she shows up at the door, having lost 1/4 to 1/3 of her body weight, had a broken leg.  Vet said probably hit by a car.  She went right to the spot for her cat food.  That night, a full can of tuna fish, treat for her, stinky apartment for us.

A few years later, we bought a house.  While we were fixing that house, Licorice stayed with my chain-smoking aunt.  At the time, all I had was a very small two seater, which did not fit Licorice's crate.  I asked the vet how to transport Licorice from aunt's house in Menlo Park to San Jose.  She said "use a pillowcase."  I was horrified.  Vet said, "pillowcase is porous so the cat can breathe, and opaque so she can't see.  She'll probably just go to sleep."

Ah, no.  First thing she did was pee everywhere.  About halfway through the trip on the freeway, I found out what "let the cat out of the bag" meant in literal terms.  She got out of the bag and started to run around the car.  Licorice decided I was to blame and started to claw me and made motions to bite me.  I grabbed her by the neck (all four sets of claws scratching), finally got her back into the bag with swear words that I don't even think were invented yet.  She was yowling the entire time.  Pulled up into the new house driveway, sweat pouring down my face, blood (mine) all over, fur sticking to me.  I let Licorice out, and she sauntered over to my wife who said "How was the trip?"  Sigh.

Five years later, we sold the house, moved one mile north to a new house.  Followed vet's instructions to keep the cat in the house or the garage for two weeks.  Did that.  Let the cat out, she escaped.  And she was gone.  For two years.  As god is my witness, she showed up two years later, on Christmas Day!  More to the story (we think the cat lady next door at the old house kidnapped her), but in the end, Licorice lived until she was 17.

I miss that cat.  She had a really great personality.  Loved everyone and wasn't shy about it.