Thursday, October 18, 2007
Jack was born in a tire. Well, more accurately, in a dog food bag IN a tire. Husband and I had heard mewling for a day or two, but couldn't figure out where it was coming from. Right about the time we found a handy dandy stray MAMA cat. Finally we watched, and she zipped up the tire, and into the bag. We were quite happy to have found them, as it had started raining, and the bag was filling with water.
Jack actually wasn't his first name. He loved to bite everything, and we dubbed him Jaws. But as he got a bit bigger, I decided that having someone chomp on me with teeth like sewing machine needles wasn't pleasant, I worked on the ancient art of nose thumping to get him to stop. Worked pretty well, didn't take him any time to learn. But then the name didn't fit.
We looked him over, and noticed, even though he was Siamese-y, he had rings on his tail, like his mom. We thought Stripes. But neither Husband nor I liked that... Then Husband said, isn't that the name of a movie? I laughed, and we both said in unison,
"THAT'S A FACT, JACK!"
And "Jack" stuck.
He loved to 'dance' with me, I would turn the music on, and hold him up and swing and sway, even dip, he loved it. Never bothered him. Any of my other cats, I would have had hamburger for arms, but I guess since he grew up with it, it was normal.
He was gone for a while, and I had almost given up on him for dead, when he showed up, dragging a leg behind him. He showed up at the door, for me to fix it. Some evil had shot him, and he had to have a leg removed. It took a while, but he was soon just as active with three legs as four. The only time he had problems was when he'd take a turn too sharp on the side missing a leg. He lean out and fall over. Other wise, except for a somewhat bouncy walk, you'd never know he'd been through anything.
He was a most excellent mouser. This was unnervingly brought to my attention when I went outside to check on a near riot going on outside. Looked around, about then, the noise stopped, and here comes Jack, mewing for me to look at his prize. A rat nearly the same size as he was, that he'd just killed.
He enjoyed when I was outside with a book, that meant lap time. I would usually sit on the bench, he would sit in my lap, and I would use him for a book support. He never seemed to mind. In fact, the only time he would mind, was when Brutus, (who is almost completely blind), would jump up and be nose to nose with him. Lap fights are not fun! And Jack ALWAYS considered it his 'territory', Brutus could just go away.
He became ill recently, and just faded quickly. He went from a robust mouser, to a furry skeleton that barely could make it from the barn to the house. But again, he came, looking for me to fix it. Last night I let him in, (I never do that, as Husband is allergic), and tried to work on Jack. He wouldn't take water, and I couldn't get him to stay warm. He didn't even act like he could see me, he'd only stop mewling when I would pet him, or scratch behind his ears. I stayed awake nearly the whole night, so I could make sure he could have the contact he seemed to be craving. He just kept getting cold, then finally, I couldn't warm him up anymore. About 6 in the morning, Jack left for his next life.
I'll miss those dances, Jack.