I got a new keyboard for the laptop, so I spent some time cleaning up my desk and work space. I was organizing files on a thumb drive and ran across Charcoal’s kitten pictures. Coal was my first kitten. We’d had two adult cats, one of whom died a few months before we adopted Coal. Since we still had our adult Siamese, Rylla, we blockaded the kitchen to keep them separated for a while. It didn’t last long.
He was with us just a few hours when he acquired his first nickname: Commando Kitty. Needless to say, his tenure in the kitchen lasted less than a week, although he did sleep in there a little longer.
He was, what they call in the South, a mess. He was into everything, all the time, just like a toddler. Like a toddler, he would run rampant over all of us, and just when I thought I was going to lose it, he’d curl up in my lap and suck on my sleeve until he went to sleep. He was definitely my cat, although we were all crazy about him.
Coal went with us to Italy. When we lived in the hotel, he would occasionally go and sit by the door, which meant he wanted to go out. Of course, he couldn’t just go outside, but I’d harness trained him almost as soon as we got him. The Italians got a good laugh every time I’d harness him and take him for a walk. We were in the hotel for a month before we moved into our house. Less than a month later, Coal was gone. He went outside one Monday morning, and we found him dead in the neighbors yard before dinner. We think he got a hold of some rat poison; he didn’t have a mark on him.
That was just over four years ago. It doesn’t seem possible. I still miss him so much. I was wondering just the other day what I’d done with his kitten pictures. My project this weekend is to burn them to a CD, and have some printed.
We miss you, Coal.