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missroseroseMr. Jerry Brown first snuggled his way into our lives on a sunny afternoon in the summer of 2005. Brian and I were at the shelter to adopt our first cat, his large and very sweet poodle having passed away shortly before; and while we didn't bring him home that trip, he stayed so cozy in our hearts that when we saw him at the shelter six months later there was nothing for it but to take him home. He was eight years old.
We knew very little about his former life; the closest hint on his paperwork was the "Owner relinquish: Moving" tag. We felt safe in assuming his had been a low-key and happy existence, for he was a low-key and happy cat - always the first to purr when you petted him, and always happy to be picked up and snuggled. His purr, like the rest of him, was large and strong - when he was really comfortable he could sound like a small motorboat.
An intelligent and talkative cat, he soon found ways to train his humans to give him treats, snuggles, and gooshyfood. One of his favorite signals to be picked up was a trilling meow combined with an arching of the back; similarly, when he wanted his window open, he would come yowl at us until we got up and followed him into the bedroom. He also quickly learned that Brian, the gooshyfood dispenser, could not sleep through the sound of the window being pawed at.
While he and his adopted brother Dexter were never close, they eventually learned to respect each others' space. It was humans, though, who were his real loves. It didn't matter if they were cat people or non-, if you had a lap and hands to pet him you were okay in his book. One of my favorite memories will always be him sitting in our friend Adam's lap (Adam, the consummate dog person), gazing adoringly into his eyes while purring and being petted and equally adoringly gazed at. ("I thought you weren't a cat person?" I asked Adam. "Mr. Jerry Brown is a very special cat," he replied.) People remembered him, too; more than once he met someone who had worked at the shelter when he was there, and they almost always remembered him and were glad to see how happy he was.
He loved everyone, but it was Brian with whom he was especially close. Many a time he would watch a movie or "help" play a game with Brian on the couch. And more than once I woke up to find him sitting on the pillow above Brian's head, keeping watch over him while he slept.
Mr. Jerry Brown died very early this morning of hyperthyroidism. The vet did what she could, but by the time she saw him things had advanced to the point where he had lost his sight and his metabolism was in overdrive. We got him medication and brought him home, but he was just struggling all evening, with no eyesight and a hyperventilating system; and a couple of hours ago he gave up.
Given how miserable he was, I'm relieved for him. But we will both miss his big fuzzy happy self just terribly.
We knew very little about his former life; the closest hint on his paperwork was the "Owner relinquish: Moving" tag. We felt safe in assuming his had been a low-key and happy existence, for he was a low-key and happy cat - always the first to purr when you petted him, and always happy to be picked up and snuggled. His purr, like the rest of him, was large and strong - when he was really comfortable he could sound like a small motorboat.
An intelligent and talkative cat, he soon found ways to train his humans to give him treats, snuggles, and gooshyfood. One of his favorite signals to be picked up was a trilling meow combined with an arching of the back; similarly, when he wanted his window open, he would come yowl at us until we got up and followed him into the bedroom. He also quickly learned that Brian, the gooshyfood dispenser, could not sleep through the sound of the window being pawed at.
While he and his adopted brother Dexter were never close, they eventually learned to respect each others' space. It was humans, though, who were his real loves. It didn't matter if they were cat people or non-, if you had a lap and hands to pet him you were okay in his book. One of my favorite memories will always be him sitting in our friend Adam's lap (Adam, the consummate dog person), gazing adoringly into his eyes while purring and being petted and equally adoringly gazed at. ("I thought you weren't a cat person?" I asked Adam. "Mr. Jerry Brown is a very special cat," he replied.) People remembered him, too; more than once he met someone who had worked at the shelter when he was there, and they almost always remembered him and were glad to see how happy he was.
He loved everyone, but it was Brian with whom he was especially close. Many a time he would watch a movie or "help" play a game with Brian on the couch. And more than once I woke up to find him sitting on the pillow above Brian's head, keeping watch over him while he slept.
Mr. Jerry Brown died very early this morning of hyperthyroidism. The vet did what she could, but by the time she saw him things had advanced to the point where he had lost his sight and his metabolism was in overdrive. We got him medication and brought him home, but he was just struggling all evening, with no eyesight and a hyperventilating system; and a couple of hours ago he gave up.
Given how miserable he was, I'm relieved for him. But we will both miss his big fuzzy happy self just terribly.
