Name: Otis Redding Cat.
Age: 17 years more or less.
Born on Date: Some time in 1989.
Died: May 23, 2006 435pm.
I wouldn’t even know where to begin to write his obituary. He was a cat after all. He never graduated from school, never flew in an airplane. He didn’t get married, have children, or raise a family. He never did alot of things. But he put up with me for 17 years. every day, with no time off for good behavior. I know how trite it sounds. All pet owners will tell you that their pet was the best pet ever, and maybe that’s true. For me, Otis was the most compassionate, kind, sweet, and irascible creature I’ve known. He always knew the right thing to say, and when not to say anything at all. He was always happy to see me, and I was always happy to know that he was home waiting for me. I used to accuse him of being ungrateful for having saved his life at the animal shelter. But I don’t think he was. I think that he was as content to live with me, as I was with him. I suck at relationships with people. The best relationship I have ever had was with a domestic short haired cat. Go figure.
Otis enjoyed the outdoors, eating grass, running away, chasing smaller creatures, and playing with string. When allowed, he dined on olives, tomato sauce (only if warmed to the right temperature), shrimp, and tuna. He loved sleeping on top of me, so as to immobilize me. He took great delight in standing on my head at 4 in the morning, and in clawing at my face until I awoke just barely enough to feed him.
In his later years, he got a companion, a nameless, now two years old, kitten, called Kitten. Although Otis lacked the energy of his youth, he indulged Kits playfulness, allowing himself to be pounced on and wrestled with, until he got tired or bored, and would simply shrug Kits off of him and walked away to find a quieter place to rest. They became best friends, I think. Kits would follow him from room to room, keeping a respectful distance most of the time. They’d sleep on the bed, next to each other. Even at the end Kits stayed with Otis, lying on the floor next to where Otis lay, too weak to move from his illness.
He was diabetic for the last 5 years of his life. Took his insulin shots twice a day, without so much as a whimper. Maybe he lived longer than he should have. I like to think that he stuck around so long because he didn’t want to abandon me. He had a good life. I believe that.
And he will be missed.