Dave

When I first met Dave, he was living in Shreveport, Louisiana in an upstairs apartment. Like most cats, he had a fondness for birds and he was howling in a weird sort of way at the birds that taunted him outside the window. The birds knew they were safe. Dave had no claws. Someone before his current owner had de-clawed him. He was a big fellow, as cats go. About a year or two later, he came to live with us.

Texas suited him. He did everything big, in a big way. Although he had no claws, he was not happy living indoors all the time. Not having claws was not a big deal to him. He still clawed the back of the couch and went hunting at night. Early morning, you had to look outside before stepping outside. Like trophies, he would have the walk path littered with dead bodies of the mice, rat and bird variety. Sometimes he would throw in a frog or two. It just was not safe to step outside until you looked.

One Saturday, there was a knock at the front door. This guy told me that he lived just down the street and had a rat or mice problem in his garage. He had tried all kinds of ways to get rid of the little pest but to no avail. He wanted to know if he could borrow our cat since he was a good mouser. Of course I had to ask how he knew that. Seems that he walks each morning. He noticed the cat displaying his trophies on the walkway.

I knew Sunday morning, you were lying at the front door but did not get up. I picked you up and fed you but you ate lying down. I wrapped you up in a towel, you felt really cold to the touch. I held and rocked you until the end. Dave, we all shall miss you. You lived to the ripe old age of 17 or 18. You enriched our lives with your presence and your trophies.