I, myself, have had two cats. The first, was one of the great cats of all-time. His name was Sylvester. However, he looked nothing like the cat of Looney Tunes fame. He was a grey on grey striped cat. We found him on the couch on our porch. (Yes, we had a couch on our porch. It was covered and sheltered from the elements.) He had a deep gash in his hip. It appeared someone tried to stab and kill him. We felt bad for his situation and fed him and gave him some milk. He kept coming back and eventually he joined our family.
not my cat (courtesy looney tunes wiki)
He moved with us twice. It was funny, we moved in March and every year he would disappear for a week or two at about the time we moved. I figured he travelled back to his old stomping grounds. Which was funny, as we originally lived in the East End of Hamilton and we moved to the East Mountain. The two houses are about 6 km (almost 4 mi) apart and are separated by the escarpment. Yet, I am sure to this day, that is what he did.
my cat
He was huge and nearly feral. I researched what kind of cat he might have been. I determined he was a European Wildcat. It was eminently possible as Hamilton has a freshwater harbour and receives ships from all over the world. I determined he either was a pet on a European freighter or stowed on a ship and made landfall in my hometown and never returned to the ship for whatever reason.
ever vigilant, the cat waking up while trying to snap a photo
Our house was only 4 km (2½ mi) from the harbour. So, it is very possible. He was one tough bugger. Surviving that stab wound. He ruled the neighbourhood. Cats, dogs, birds, squirrels, and small children knew not to mess with him. One time, our dog, Duchess, was chilling on the porch and some new cat to the neighbourhood came on the porch and started hassling her. Well, Sylvester came out of nowhere and smacked (yes, smacked) this cat and sent it flying. He then turned around and gave a shot to the dog. It was as if to say: What are you doing? Only I can push you around. Smarten up! It was funny.
the dog, duchess
Like the dog, Sylvester bonded to me more than anyone else in the family. Even if everyone in the house was up and about in the morning and I was still in bed, he would come in to my room and sit on my chest and put his face right up to mine and start purring. He wanted breakfast and wanted me to get it. I guess I was his pet more than he was mine.
snoozing in one of his favourite spots, again he wakes up while taking a picture
He and the dog were awesome. At night, the cat would sleep on my head and Duchess would sleep across my legs. It was an acrobatic art getting up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and get back into bed.
When he wanted in, Sylvester would sit in my bedroom window and meow and beat on the pane. I would open the window and he would come in. If I was anywhere else in the house he would find me and meow and bang on that window. The best was when I was in the kitchen. The kitchen window was basically ten feet up from the ground with no way to get to it. Or so I thought. He would get on that window sill and do his thing. I eventually saw him actually run up the wall and pop himself onto the sill. He knew I could not open that window to let him in, so he would then run down the wall and hop on to the ground and go to the door after he got my attention and I made for the door.
another failed attempt to photograph the cat sleeping while napping on warm dryer clothing
Playing with him was combat. I had to put on a heavy work glove as the bugger had big, sharp teeth and all his claws. I swear, he tried to rip my hand apart. It was loads of fun. He also would climb in our pine trees in the front of the house and hunt birds and knock out nests for fun. More than once I would see him on either the roof of the garage or the house wandering around. He would leap from one roof to the other. I never quite figured out how he got up there though, it would have been challenging.
When the dog and I would go for hikes in and around the escarpment (and apparently around Buttermilk Falls, I never knew what they were called back then), the cat would follow us. He would trail behind us and sometimes across the road. I think he was keeping an eye on us to make sure we were okay. A few times when we came back out of the bush, he would be lounging in some bushes, acting all nonchalant, and return home with us. As I said, one of the all-time great cats.
We had him for nearly twenty years and went to the Veterinarian only twice the whole time we had him. The first time, he had been with us about sixteen years and the Vet asked how old he was. I said at least eighteen as he was full grown when he came to us. I told the Vet also that he was mainly an outdoor cat. Really? Yes. Really?? Yes. Well,in that Vet's experience, most outdoor cats live one year to eighteen months before some tragedy would befall them. Two years tops. Well, not this guy. The Vet also confirmed that it was very possible Sylvester was a European Wildcat. She felt my theory on how he came to Canada was credible and that these Wildcats will domesticate to a certain extent and they were known to interbreed with "house" cats. I will tell you too, that Vet was a little afraid of Sylvester. Many people were.
yet again, i cannot catch him sleeping
The second time he went to the Vet, was the last time he went anywhere. I was living in Ottawa, attending university, and a friend, Joe, who was living at our house and helping take care of the cat, was coming up to Ottawa for the weekend. Before he left he wanted to make sure the cat was alright, even though Sylvester could last for days on his own outside, especially in the summer as it was July.
Well, Joe went searching for Sylvester. He found him in the cedars by the side of the driveway, one of his favourite spots to lounge. Immediately, Joe knew something was not right. Sylvester was listless and almost totally unresponsive. Joe got in close and saw little bugs flying around the cat's face. They were apparently flying in and out of the cat's mouth. Sylvester was still alive though.
He picked him up and as Joe said, he weighed nothing. He then took the cat to the Vet. The Vet said that the cat was dying, should already be dead in fact, but had days left at the most. Also, Sylvester's kidneys had shut down. He probably did not have proper functioning kidneys for the last year. Well, Joe made the decision to put him to sleep. The correct and only decision really.
Why did Sylvester not go off in to the woods to expire as I figured he would, being the kind of cat he was, a wild cat. I think he wanted to make sure we knew he was leaving this world and did not want us searching for him. Remember, he always kept an eye on me when I went for hikes.
perhaps we will meet again old friend
I certainly miss that tough bugger. He definitely was one of the all-time greatest cats. Period.
I will fill you in on my other cat, George, tomorrow.
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