Monzo

I'm bad with dates. I forget birthdays, I forget family members' wedding anniversaries and if I don't write them down on paper, I forget appointments and meet-ups of all sorts. I've just never been a numbers person. There are some kinds of dates I don't forget, though, and yesterday's was one of them. Three years ago, on July 31, a tall long-haired beauty of a boy who'd been a part of my life for all but 11 months of his 13-1/2 years passed away in the night while I was sleeping. Monzo died from complications stemming from hyperthyroidism. He and his brother Tarwater came to live with me when a friend's then-girlfriend had decided to bring them to the SPCA since she had allergies and asthma and neither suddenly disappeared as Tar and Monzo grew themselves out of kitten-hood.

Monzo was the most inquisitive cat I've ever met. No piece of furniture was too high for him and he'd often find a way to the top of a 6' tall bedside bookshelf in the middle of the night to prove this, making sure that he was noticed by jumping off said bookshelf, directly onto my (non-waveless) waterbed. His favourite perch was the top of the refrigerator, from where he could observe cooking and kitchen parties, waiting patiently for a treat or pinch of catnip for his troubles. Shortly after he came to live with me, he taught me how to play fetch, surprising me by returning wads of paper I'd toss for him to chase after; I guess I should really say that he taught me how to play "throw" and that he trained me (and anyone else who sat on the right end of the sofa) quite well.

Everybody fell in love with Monzo. He was just so alert and engaging and so, so beautiful. He was always friendly to other humans and non-humans, including the other feline adoptees and fosters who stayed with us over the years. He never seemed to begrudge any of them the attention they required and always approached them with earnest curiosity. In some ways, Monzo seemed to fall in love with everybody else. At least, he left those around him thinking as much and adoring him accordingly. He knew how to work anybody.

Three years later, he's still very much missed. He comes up in conversations with my friends quite often, and even today when I look at Zeus and Sophie, I can't help but think of them as the wee kittens they once were, trailing after Monzo with anticipation. He was always patient with them, willing to let them curl up around him for naps and always gentle with them, even when they were at their most clumsy. I can't help but wish that he was still here for us to continue to share our lives with him. Three years later, I still miss his voice. I figure that three years from now, I'll be thinking the very same thing.