We called him Blue Nose.
I suppose it was his coloring: a beautiful shade of silvery-blue/grey. Intense, huge sapphire-blue eyes that missed very little. He was beautiful.
We had Blue Nose for over 15 years. We got him as a little ball of fluff; we got him as a gift from my parents whose Himalayan cat had kittens, and we had him in our lives ever since. That was, until last week, when he got out, and a neighbor's dog chewed him up. I was the one who found his broken, bloody form in the middle of the neighbor's yard.
It was a very sad end to our kitty. We all loved him so much: me, my husband, and of course, our children. Telling them about what had happened to Blue Nose was probably the hardest thing I ever had to do. It was also hard when I put his remains in a box and buried him in our yard. We had a little funeral for Blue Nose and we all miss him terribly.
The kids have never known what it was like not to have a cat in their lives. Now they will know; they will find out just how much it hurts. I am crying now as I reflect and remember.
Blue Nose was one of a kind. Spoiled? You bet. The kids could bonk him on the head with their toys or pull his fur, yet Blue Nose would take it like a man (or cat). He allowed them to mess with him, only as long as they didn't get too rough; if they did, he would swipe at them with a warning paw and hiss, as if to tell them: "BACK OFF, BUDDY!!" He was a very gentle, happy cat: everybody who knew him loved him and remarked on his unusual coloring.
Blue Nose loved to be petted and attended to: as long as people were paying him some attention, he was happy. He would roll over onto his back and purr his face off (meaning, purr so loudly you could hear it across the room and see his flong, luxurious fur actually vibrating from the force of his purrs), kneading the air with his paws: the faster he kneaded the air, the happier he was. It was adorable.
He loved us, and he loved other people, but dogs? Dogs were another matter altogether. Every time Blue Nose saw a dog, he would puff up his already long fur until he looked like a dandelion puff ball with legs (and a furred out tail), ears laid back flat agasinst his head, bright blue eyes marbled with fear and hate, and hiss so loud it would scare me. He sounded just like a cobra. Yet the kids found his hissing episodes hilarious: they would cackle with glee every time Blue Nose did this, and I would be forced to smile too because this was usually not the norm.
Throughout his long life, Blue Nose retained the personality (or should that be "PURR"sonality?) of a kitten. He loved to play, including fetch. My daughter would throw crumpled pieces of paper and Blue Nose would take off after it, only to pick it up and carry it back to her in his mouth; we kiddingly referred our cat as a "puppy-cat" because he was like a dog.
He would come to you whenever we called his name (or heard the sound of the electric can opener; he knew that meant one thing: DINNERTIME!!!!), and he would sit there, expecting to be petted or paid attention to. And then he had his fetching game, which never ceased to delight people who were blessed enough to witness it.
Then came last week when he got out. I don't know who accidentally left the door open to where the cat could get out, but now we are having to deal with the fact that Blue Nose is gone, forever, and he won't be coming back. We all miss him terribly, and we know that there will probably never be another cat quite like him. Blue Nose was certainly one of a kind, and I am glad we had him as long as we did.
