The Seated View

When I first moved out on my own, I had a Christmas tree. A live one in a pot. I thoroughly enjoyed decorating it with my own ornaments, and turning on the lights in the evening. After Christmas, it got planted in my sister’s garden, where it lived happily for several years before giving up the ghost. We called it Desmond. The next year, I had been joined by Mojo . I still got a Christmas tree, but had several experiences of Mojo getting her claws stuck in ornaments as she was playing with them. I also got too cheap to have a tree, so the year after that and many years besides, I treated my ficus as my Christmas tree. I got the best of both worlds: festive decorations during the holiday season, with no cost and no carpet of dead pine needles after New Year’s. And then came Lucy . There are a number of differences between Mojo and Lucy. Mojo was a tuxedo cat, Lucy is a white and orange tabby. Mojo never knocked anything over in the 13 years she shared my home, Lucy knoc...

  I still miss her , the space in my heart that was hers remaining so.   

Today is Mojo’s birthday. Well, to be honest, I don't know her exact birthday - she was about three months old when she came home with me on February 1, 1997 and given the name I chose for her, Halloween seemed like the perfect birth date. I've been thinking of her lately, more so than is usual - Lucy takes up an awful lot of room and couldn't be more different from Mojo (the only thing they have in common is that they're both felines), so despite often having a sense of her, sometimes it's hard to remember details around all the Lucyness. The other day, I was going through some of my pictures and popped into a folder from about a year ago and there she was. My Mojo. And my first thought was holy crap, she has a lot of hair After six months of a shorthaired cat, I’d forgotten what the long-haired one looked like. And then I went through some more photos and smiled and cried a little. Played the what if game, beat myself up for not somehow knowing sooner, gettin...

She came to me a sunny day in February, 13 years ago, a small ball of energy, curiosity and attitude, at three months old, so small and with so much hair and whiskers, she looked like an explosion of fur. Wearing the black mask and mantle, she looked like she’d been dipped in white paint, had freckles of black on her stomach and her toes and a black smudge on her nose, as if she’d gotten too close to the chimney. Her coat was silky, the softest thing I’ve ever felt and the thought that I’ll never touch her again makes my heart hurt with tears. I had dozens and dozens of names for her, variations of her name - Mo, Moj, Mo Po, descriptors like Princess Paws when she was pawing at me to hurry up with food or trying to get me to share my dinner, Yelly McYells-A-Lot (again, food-related), Princess Poopypants (did I tell you about the colitis?), the Psycho Cat from hell (nail cut), Mojo the Wondercat, Her Royal Catness, my Miss Cat and my pretty girl. She was my mother’s grandcat, my s...

About 10 days ago, Mojo the Wonder Cat had her first chemo treatment and it went remarkably well. We thought. Due to a miscommunication - because Mercury is retrograde after all and boy, has that ever packed a punch this time around – I didn't fast her, which means she couldn't get sedated for the treatment and the stress turned out to be too much for her bladder. She got a UTI . Popping in and out of the litter box every two minutes, eventually getting so stressed out she tried going on her safest places (the couch, my bed), followed by an "interesting" case of diarrhea due to either stress-induced colitis, antibiotic side effects or chemo (or the perfect storm of all three) which was apparently too heinous for the litter box all meant I couldn't manage her side effects at home, so she went to the vet for a couple of days. By last Thursday, they claimed the diarrhea was largely gone and that she'd stopped peeing everywhere, tentatively diagnosed her with...

Thanks for all the lovely comments and thoughts for Mojo and me on Friday's post. Having this many people pulling for her seems to have obliged Her Royal Catness to do well and so far, so good. The colonoscopy was clear, the surgery went well and they were able to get the mass with 1cm margins with no apparent effect on bodily functions - a very cheerful Australian vet told me on Saturday that you only need half of your anus to be continent. Not just good news considering how much time the wee beastie spends on my bed, but also an absolutely fascinating piece of trivia, no? Mojo's staying until she doesn't need painkillers or major medical care and will hopefully be home in a few days. Pathology results later this week - continued crossing of appendages would be much appreciated. As for the Mercury Retrograde thing... Thursday, my shoulders went ballistic, Friday, my microphone went to its reward after many years of dedicated service and the combination of the two means ...

Mojo has a new thing. She comes up with new things all the time and I find it impossibly charming that even though she's been with me for 13 years, she still finds new things to do on a regular basis. For the longest time, she's had a ritual when I go to bed, coming up next to me and lying down while grabbing my left hand and then she lies there purring while we hold hands. When she's had enough, she'll wander off to the bottom of the bed where after her pre-sleep grooming session, she'll spread out across the foot of the bed, back legs up against my leg, tail decorously draped over my shin. Terribly adorable, except when I wake up at 6am lying diagonally because she has slowly and oh-so-sweetly pushed against my legs so she can have more room. I'm just grateful she lets me borrow the bed every now and again. This is still going on, but she's added a new element to the bonding session. As I lie down, she places herself by my right shoulder, purring e...