Unfortunately, he had a penchant for hair balls. Lots of them. So our daughter renamed him "Big Spitty". Fitting...and funny.
His meows sounded very much like talking due to an accident when he was a kitten, his previous owner told us.
His favorite places were: under our bed, on our son's bed, on our daughters bed and lately, on the new cushiony foot rest in the living room.
He liked to head out into the night...around 10:30 pm. And would wait patiently until we opened the door.
He was gracious about three houses, two moves, two dogs and various war games. He typically played a POW in the games the kids played, although there was an incident where they tried to mount a nerf gun to his back. That did NOT end well.
He went softly as the poem goes. And for him, the clocks are stopped, and the dog is not barking with a big juicy bone.
He was old. He was content. He was a favorite. He was well-loved. He is being well-missed--as indicated by the two valiantly soft voices stating unequivocally that they should not have to go to school today given the fact that "I could break out crying at any minute."
Well played. But no deal. I'm sure there are books on this subject, but we don't have them and for this, we don't need them. Cuddles, stories over dinner and time. That'll do it.
See ya later, Big Spitty.
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