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Fur Ball in the Sky


Rinse, lather, repeat.

We had a death in our four footed family today. Kellogg was an aged orange tabby with little body weight when he was left to us by a neighbor that moved and didn't want to take him along.

"He's an outdoor cat, he'll never come in your house" said the man. When it got cold, I opened the back door and coaxed him inside. How could I not? Although this poor ball of fur had fur, that was about all he had. And he stank. He smelled like death, only worse.

So Old Kellogg became an indoor cat. He had a meow that sounded more like a croak crossed with a hoarse chirp. If I wasn't sure cats don't smoke I'd have pegged old Kellogg for a 3 pack a dayer.

My father alternated between yelling at the orange ball of fur to stop following him and caring for him in a very tender way. You'd have to know my father to understand. Ever since we were little, my father has been the Patron Saint of Lost or Abandoned Animals. We always took in strays--much to my mother's chagrin. Puppies and kittens were always in the house. All stray cats within a 50 mile radius knew to come to here.

Despite Kellogg's poor grooming habits, he sure knew how to eat. For a while that is. There came a time when he could no longer crunch dry food so my father began to buy special tins of wet cat food. He'd place it on a paper plate and put it in front Kellogg. Then there was a problem with that. Kellogg would take a bit, screech like a banshee and start doing a dash through the house. Dash, stop, head flipping back and forth, screech, repeat. Seems he couldn't chew and so it would get stuck and then he'd make his mad dash-thrash-screech. It sounds funny, but let me tell you the first time you see this flying ball of fur, screeching and howling and coming right at you, it gives you pause.

Scared the bajeebers outa me the first time.

So my father began to give Kellogg half a can and he spent time cutting it up and mushing so poor kitty wouldn't have any more eating issues.

Kellogg would follow my father around everywhere he went. We don't know who had Kellogg before our former neighbor, but whoever they were, they declawed the poor thing. THEN made him an outdoor cat. That ought to have meant the end of Kellogg but he survived.

A few days ago Kellogg stopped following my father around. He stopped eating and drinking. He climbed waaay back into a closet to die. Dad moved him out into a softly padded crate and we waited.

Dad dug the grave and readied the show box.

And we waited.

Today Kellogg went to his kitty litter box in the sky.

RIP Kellogg


Rinse, lather, repeat.


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