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| Sherlock at his water dish |
I have been flooded with one request to resume the blog kept by our beloved Sherlock and abandoned when he left this earthly plane in 2009. He left many writings behind, as he had learned before there were LOL cats that any cat could walk on a keyboard, but using one, that was superior. And he took his superiority seriously.
Sherlock was with us 13 years, and his death hit me hard. It's taken three years, and the loving interventions of Sheba and Tashi, to get me to the point where I could go back and deal with this material. I hope to be publishing more of it. You can read this entry here or click on the link to read it on his own blog, Sherlock Here.
From Sherlock’s Diary:
I don’t ask much.
Food in my dish.
A dripping water faucet.
The occasional morsel of salmon or tuna. Perhaps chicken.
An open window when the weather is pleasant.
A respectably clean litterbox.
A ledge to meditate on, and a way to get to it.
Everything in the same place.
All comings and goings at the same time every day.
Everyone nice and calm.
(No thunderstorms.)
No one trying to pull me around the house by the tail.
Occasional gratuitous strokes and compliments on my eyes.
Utter freedom to explore.
Full ownership of every horizontal surface.
In return for this, I vow to be myself at every moment,
for I am the Cat.
I think that’s a pretty fair deal.
I am still haunted by the cats of my past. Especially the little, angry grey tabby we had for 12 years, who died on the last day of 2010. Something about her fierce, but fragile - pained - life has always stuck with me. She was rescued by my mother from a crack house, and I don't think she ever quite recovered from those early experiences.
ReplyDeleteThank you. Your description is beautiful. Sherlock was a rescue cat too, though he didn't seem scarred by his past. I grew to feel very close to him.
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