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Wednesday 20 November 2013

The Circle of Life

Twelve years ago, almost to the day, a wonderful creature came into our lives. Tonight he left it.

While wandering through Park Royal mall, I happened upon the pet store, and noticed they had a fresh litter of kittens. I can't recall how many kittens they had exactly, but I remember they all looked very similar, except for one; one was noticeably smaller, and had no tail. I also remember that every single kitten had already been bought and was reserved; except for this runt.

GOD he was a cute sonofabitch. I bought him, and when he was ready to come home, we named him Newman. Yes, after the Seinfeld character of the same name. He couldn't have been named better. I don't know how many times I came home from work, and was greeted at the door by his cute face and could imagine him saying:

"helllllllllooooooo, Daddy".

With disdain.

What a character.



I won't bore you with Newman stories -  I could go all night - but I'll share this one. Not long after we got him, while we were living in Richmond, I got a frantic call late at night from Tracey. I was working at SportChek in Park Royal, and she was yelling that Newman was missing. She was afraid he had fallen off the balcony. I came rushing home, and she was right; the clumsy little bastard had managed to jump up on the railing on the balcony (which was plenty large, BTW), and fallen off. Now, we were living in an apartment building with underground parking; our parking spot was about as far away from our actual apartment as possible. It wasn't even CLOSE to where he would have fell off. But after lots of searching, we finally heard him meowing, and finally found him INSIDE THE ENGINE OF THE CAR THAT PARKED NEXT TO OUR SPOT. You read that right. He found our parking spot (remember, I was at work, the car wasn't there!!), and, scared, found his way into a warm, safe spot until we came for him. We when extricated him (and the guy that owned that car probably still doesn't know what happened to his car that night), he was completely covered in oil. That was one really interesting bath.

What a character.

He was so small when we got him, he could hide anywhere. Behind anything. In any tiny spot you could possibly imagine.

It wasn't long before he got so fat he was nicknamed "the Belly". And it wasn't one of those ironic nicknames....you know, when you nickname a 400-pound behemoth "slim"....he earned it. He never met a can of kitty food he didn't like. He just BECAME "the Belly". We hardly ever called him Newman anymore.

"Hi honey, how's the Belly?".

I wasn't asking Tracey about indigestion.

Until recently, our password when our alarm company called us was simply "belly".

In fact, you know when you go into online banking you get a personal phrase that is supposed to indicate to you that you are at a legitimate website? Ours is "the belly is tubby".

I guess I should probably change that.

What a character.

As he got sicker and sicker, he lost so much weight he was almost unrecognizable. We've been going through pictures of him and he looks like a different cat. It took him 12 years, and kidney failure, for him to get back to the same size that he was when we first got him.

Well, that's not totally true....he was skinny again, but he never lost his belly!! It still hung down to the ground. It was his trademark, after all!

Every time we lose a cat, I write a blog about how he/she was one of the greatest cats of all time. At some point, you've just gotta wonder...I mean, they can't ALL be the best cat ever, can they?

Between Cleo, Pepe and Newman, we have been blessed with some of the most incredible companions you could possibly imagine. They were all close to perfect in their own way. It was like living with the kitty equivalent of The Beatles (at least the Beatles that everyone cared about; sorry Ringo).

Tonight, in Kitty Heaven, the band is back together.

The circle of life.

Rest well, Belly....we love you very much.














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