So long Der Kommandant Pooper "Cheeks" Von Fuzzychaps

Der Kommandant

She was a jerk. I adopted her as a full grown adult from some crazy cat lady who basically collected as many feral cats as she could and dumped them on the vet clinic I worked at. "Wild as a march hare!" she declared, shoving the cage at me.

Regal as fuck.

She was just so pretty and so needy and so friendly... at the clinic. She'd been spayed and de-clawed, apparently. And did I mention pretty? She was someone's pet. They spent at least a few hundred on her. What was she doing on the loose outside? I couldn't let her go back with the crazy cat woman. I took her home and named her Wicket because Ewok.

Wicket was a stupid name.

She had some behavioral issues, absolutely resented my other rescue kitty, and insisted on pooping to mark any and all semi-relevant occasions. "She's home! I shall poop to greet her." "Someone has come to visit! I poop verily." "It's time to go to bed? Pooping will keep the demons away." "Morning already? Sun gods, take this, my holy offering." In the litter box, but good grief... could you not?

And so she earned her name: Pooper

(For those wondering: this and the other potato are so small because they were taken half a lifetime ago)

We liked to live dangerously.

She had this thing where she'd come up to you, wanting to be pet. And you'd pet her. And then she'd bite the shit out of you. People say what they want about cats, but I grew up with them. Many. I never met a cat who did this quite like she did. She wanted love, and she was so fucking fluffy, that it was hard not to. I had to warn the unsuspecting. And everyone believed they were special. And everyone found out just how wrong they were... in blood.

Assuming direct control.

She was a springy, ninja-like freak. Her favorite thing, no matter how large or small the space, was to tear around the house or apartment or room at sub sonic speeds, more than often using my sleeping head as a springboard for her adventures. Subsequently, this is also how she learned to fly. Landing on my sleeping self was a free power-up.

My favorite picture of her.

My other adopted kitty had to be put down a couple of years ago. Pooper went to the door after I got back from euthanizing her and yowled... much to my surprise. She'd never spent much time with me, her fat white nemesis having claimed my lap and bed. With her gone, she decided to join me. She liked to bat at the covers til I'd let her under with me, then shove herself up against my side and sleep. She also seemed to age rapidly these past two years.

It's a strange feeling...

It was a rough summer. She began having issues on my birthday last year. Our story was coming to a close. She'd finally gotten me all to herself and I finally got to know her for something other than a toothy rocket-ninja with an endless bowel.

After 15 years, I had to put her down yesterday. I felt her heart stop. I dug her grave and my shoulders ache now. Her paw prints are everywhere.

And even though the last few days she couldn't jump up onto my bed and could barely move, when I woke up this morning, I could tell she wasn't there.

She was absolutely ridiculous, and a jerk, but I refused to ever give her up for fear that no one else who adopted her would put up with her. I wanted her to have a safe home. I didn't think the end would be like this. I absolutely miss her.

Nightnight, Poops.