If you've been to this blog regularly, you may have heard me mention Stimpy. Well, July 19 -- Saturday, marks the third anniversary since Stimpy crossed over the Rainbow Bridge and went to the Heavyside Layer.
So, I need to post a bit about my angel boy.
Stimpy entered my life as a cat belonging to the drug dealer living down the street (according to his next door neighbor). One thing was for sure -- he didn't care for Stimpy well (Stimpy maintained a healthy fear of brooms and feet for most of his life). Still, this cat would walk down the block and when he saw a passerby, roll on his back, waiting to be pet.
He managed to determine which car in the parking area was mine, and always slept on top of it. No one else's.
Well, of course I started feeding him. (He was skinny.) And when it was rainy, let him into my no-cats-allowed apartment.
I put a cat-house on the porch so he'd be warm in the winter.
And, when he tangled with another critter and had a bad wound on his tail, took him to the vet, where they managed to shave it so he looked like a cat-poodle. Then I put meds on it till he healed. (I have no idea what the neighbor thought.)
Some relationships are just ordained!
When the neighbor moved, he was going to abandon Stimpy and I asked if I could have him. I'm sure he was relieved when I took Stimpy off his hands. (I never knew his original name; I just liked big, dumb, red Stimpy on "Ren and Stimpy."
Well, quickly, he became my boy --
The cross dressing boy.
The Christmas cat.
The pillow where I buried my head when my eyes were filled with tears and my heart heavy, first with a break-up, then with the loss of my dad.
And, Stimpy was directly responsible for my meeting Rick, because if I'd not been evicted from my apartment for an illegal cat, I'd never have gone to his duplex, looking for a new place to live.
Stimpy loved the lake and sprawling out on the chaise on the porch. He even loved riding in the car.
I would often take him on walks on his leash, after he lost his outdoor privileges in an unpleasant experience after devouring a cardinal. (After that, he was grounded.)
When I was up north with Stimpy and Gypsy (he was a grand mentor to his little orange buddy as well!), he started having some seizure-like attacks. We raced home and took him to MSU's vet clinic (wonderful people). But after two days of Herculean efforts, we had to say goodbye.
I miss him every day. My sweet angel boy. The cat who taught this person who said "I'll never have a cat, I'm a dog person and I don't have a pet lifestyle" to love his velvety fur, sweet purr beautiful green eyes and gentle disposition.
This is Stimpy's last phot -- two weeks or so before we said goodbye. Do you ever really say goodbye? I don't think I do.
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