Chuckles: R.I.P.

So… yeah… uh… my cat died, too.

Charles came from the pound in San Francisco about 14 years ago. He was likely part Maine Coon and part something walking down the street when his mom was taking a nap on the sidewalk. If mom was anything like Charles, she was completely inert and didn’t even wake up while it happened.

Charles spent most days in the garden with me, following me around. I don’t know why… we were just hanging out, I guess. He was completely useless as a mouser. I remember him taking a nap right next to a fieldmouse that was sleeping on a laptop power supply in my office. “Live and let live” was his motto. That, and “give me tuna, dammit.”

He’d been through… lots of stuff in his day. He had a nasty fungus once that nearly killed him (cost him a few teeth), he had diabetes for the last six years or so (two shots of insulin every day), and he even got his tail closed in the door once. Most recently, several months ago, he got pancreatitis that involved us hooking up a saline drip bag to him at night.

But this time… everything went to hell in a handbasket. So, Charles has been excused from duty.

You were a good cat, Chuckles.

See ya.