Mosby started off life as a stray cat. She would wander across my back porch, and when I saw her, she would streak away to the safety of bushes, thus earning herself the nickname "The Gray Ghost." She eventually figured out that I could easily be conned into giving her a bowl of dry cat food twice a day, so she decided to stay a bit closer. Not close enough to touch, as that would take another two or three weeks of twice-daily feedings to make sure I was safe to be near.
Eventually, as all female stray cats must, she became pregnant. The day that I went out to find her and take her inside so she could have her kittens indoors instead of outside under an azalea bush was the day she disappeared to give birth. I saw her the next day, and she was much slimmer. It took nine days to find where she had given birth - at the bottom of the neighbor's four-foot-tall flower box. I was able to lure her into the cat carrier with wet food, and fished the five kittens out to put them all into the Cats' Room. Becoming a permanent resident meant that she needed more than a nickname, she needed a name. I know enough of Virginia history to know that "The Gray Ghost" is also the nickname of the Confederate raider John Mosby, so she became Mosby. (As there was already one John in the house, there was no need to confuse matters.)
The kittens grew to be old enough to go to new homes, and four of the five did. Mosby and the fifth kitten stayed with me. As the fifth kitten was a gray-and-white tuxedo cat (sometimes known as an Armani Tuxedo cat), and the pattern looked like it ought to be formal Confederate wear, she became Rebel. Also in no small part due to her general disdain for rules.
At the time, there were two other cats in the house, Sami and O. Henry, my parents' cats. Four cats were plenty, and Mosby and Rebel found their place in the feline hierarchy.
A year later, Tommy returned to the house. He was a kitten from the litter of the pregnant stray who adopted me a year before Mosby showed up, and his owner could no longer keep him, so would I please take him back? As a result, there were now five adult cats in the household.
Over the next few years, Sami and O. Henry passed away, and Mosby stepped into the position of Matriarch of the Household. Rebel, of course, retained her position as Kitten Forever, Never Growing Up.
Mosby made a point of always showing up for Morning and Evening Roll Calls, also known as breakfast and dinner. (Tommy would sleep in for breakfast once every three months, and Rebel, once every four months. Mosby always appeared, possibly remembering the days when she was a stray, when the next meal was uncertain.) She would always sleep near me, and during the cooler nine months of the year, she'd find a warm and cozy spot, nestled between my knees and shins at night or in my lap if I were watching TV.
Mosby and her daughter Rebel loved each other fiercely. They would usually sleep together, and would groom each other at length daily. In the last ten months, Rebel developed into quite a caretaker for her mother, being there to comfort and to groom her daily, and to run to her side from the far side of the house when Mosby would awaken and call out for company.
Mosby is survived by her daughter Rebel and her housemate - and possible half-brother - Thomas Jifferson (Tommy, to his friends), and by her human. She might also be survived by other kittens, one of whom was known to this household as Harriet (because of a lightning bolt of white on her forehead, like Harry Potter), and who knows? perhaps grand-kittens or more.
Mosby. RIP.
No comments:
Post a Comment