Conference misery::feline_v1

185.0. "Morgan" by PEN::KALLIS () Wed Dec 18 1985 13:54

In Note 165 I wrote of my Morlock.  Now, a few words about Morgan.

	    The little kitten came into my life a most peculiar way:  Although I 
was a cat-lover, I hadn't made the plunge.  I was working late one night 
at Chrysler Space Division in Huntsville, and as a friend and I were 
checking out, a small orange & white kitten strolled by.  A security 
guard grabbed him, and said, "I've been trying to get this one all 
evening!"
	    It transpired that some secretaries had found a little stray and had 
smuggled him into the building, from which the guard was about to eject 
him.  I pointed out that the street outside was one of Huntsville's 
busiest, and putting a kitten out at night was nearly a death sentence.
	    "Well, if you want him, take him," said the guard.  "Otherwise, out 
he goes."
	    Chance brought us together.
	    I never regretted the impulsive decision to adopt him.
	    That first night, I made an emergency litterbox out of a shallow 
cardboard carton and some dirt I dug up from my back yard.  He used it 
enthusiastically.  I got a can of cat food from a late-open supermarket 
(that didn't have litter), which he devoured gereedily (the secretaries 
must have fed him only on milk.
	    Over the months, I lerarned a lot about him, and he of me.  He was a 
friendly cat, but not the type to throw himself on you.  He played little 
kitten tricks, but never had a Great Accident (except the time he tried 
to climb the Christmas Tree, precipitating tree and cat to the floor in a 
grand crash in the middle of the night.
	    I got a second cat, Nianinne, who was a sleek black half-Siamese 
lady; she became _his_ cat, and the two spent a lot of time together 
throughout the rest of their relatively long lives.
	    Morgan grew into a magnificent LARGE cat; he had not an ounce of 
fat, and he weighed slightly over 18 pounds.  He was the only cat I knew 
who, when he stood on his hind legs to Look Out the Window, rested his 
_elbow_ on the sill.
	    Morgan did not quarrel or fight.  When Angelica, my first full 
Siamese entered our lives, he more or less nodded in her direction when 
she was feeling hostile, but wouldn't become involved.
	    My time with Morgan was filled with happy memories.  He traveled 
with me from Alabama to Florida once to visit my parents; then from 
Alabama to Massachusetts as jobs dried up in the aerospace indistries and 
I moved over to computers.
	    I remember him hiding in my Klipschorn (I'd get him out by playing a 
record, LOUD).  I remember him looking at me as I was working on an 
electronic project, occasionally grabbing a resistor or capacitor in his 
teeth and running off with it to play.
	    I often remember dignified old Morgan Chasing His Tail, a game he 
was singularly unsuited for.
	    I remember how he used to wake me up:  first, he'd jump on the bed 
with a cheery _chirp!_.  If that didn't do it, he'd pat my face with his 
paw.  If that wasn't enough, he'd draw his paw across my lips.  And if 
_that_ wasn't sufficient, he'd repeat the gesture, claws extended, but 
lightly enough so that he caused no pain.
	    Finally, one time I was _so_ deep in sleep that he did the ultimate: 
he stuck his head in my open mouth!  I don't know who was more surprised 
when I woke up!  That happened only once.
	    He loved several brands of cat foods, but not too much human food, 
though he did like soome pizzas.  When he was in Alabama, he got a 
fondness for pit-barbecued food (which northerners have never _tasted_ up 
here), and if I brought home some for myself, I had to bring some home 
for Them.
	    Morgan was my cat, yes.  But he knew my moods, and gave me distance 
when I needed it.  When I was working on a manuscript, he'd stay close 
without getting in the way.
	    I could (and may, someday) fill up a book with stories of Morgan, 
and "his cat," Nianinne.  Often, I'd see then sleeping together, she 
curled inside him (both were neutered, so it was purely Platonic).
	    After I reached my present Massachusetts home, bachelor-messy as it 
was, he was in his element.  There were two floors.  When I wasn't there 
the bed was his and Nianinne's.  There was a large, upholstered chair 
that he slept in downstairs (on his back, filling it up).
	    One day, however, I noticed he'd become dangerously thin.  It 
happened very suddenly, and he was not a light eater, though by no means 
a glutton.  I took him to my vet's, and he did some preliminary tests.
	    Morgan had apparently developed cancer.
	    I brought him to Angell Memorial, where he passed away, while 
recovering from exploratory surgery.
	    When he went to the hospital, little Nianinne suffered a stroke.  
She died within 24 hours of him.  She apparently would go _anywhere_ with 
him.
	    They were both 15 years old.  They were, are, and will be missed.   
To this day, I miss his cheery _chirp!_ in the morning.
	    Wherever cats go after they pass on, he and Nianinner surely are 
there.  Perhaps they have met Angelica, Morlock, and Sammy.  May they all 
know eternal happiness.

Steve Kallis, Jr.

Lest there be any misunderatanding:

Morgan, God bless his soul, passed away about five years ago.  I wrote this
as a folloow-up to me Morlock note (Morlock died recently).  They were both
orange&white shorthair cats, but .0 is a tribute to a Very Special Cat,
somewhat belated.

Steve Kallis, Jr.