My Mackerel by Bonnie Ramsburg He entered my life exactly one day after his sister did. He left my life one year and one month before she did. For sixteen years I had the pleasure of being owned by him. For any who think he was “just a pet, just a cat or just an animal,” bite your tongues and don’t you dare say it to me and mine. For we know better. He was so much more. I adopted him from Friends of Pets at the local PetSmart the day after my brother adopted his sister. He started his life kind of rough in our house, not a good idea to draw blood from the man of the house (my dad) your first night in. Dad was his favorite guy though; I guess he thought he owed him for scratching him up. His fur was a silvery gray and as soft as rabbits fur, his eyes were the same shade of gray while he was still a kitten. I so hoped they would stay that color, but it wasn’t meant to be, they changed and it was fine, I still loved the little bugger. He had many names during his lifetime-Mackerel, Macks, Little Man, Big Baby, Fuzz Nuts (my brother’s contribution, plus a couple of other not so nice ones), when he purred so loudly in my ear or so that I could feel it in my chest, he was My Little Lawnmower, and for whatever reason, one of my cousins decided he was Macaroni. He was my confidant, my secret keeper, my furry four-legged heating pad-I fell many times while I had him, and every time, he’d lay on or as close to the area of my body that hurt and purr and try to keep it warm. His rabbit like fur soaked up many a tear as I went through cycles with my bi-polar, he never complained, and he never tried to get away while I was holding and crying on him. He was my troublemaker; he liked to be up high, which resulted in many broken items. Those times he was called Mackerel Ramsburg Goff, so he’d know I was really upset with him. Did it do any good? Not at all, he was a cat after all. They say animals don’t have expressions, not true! My Macks would give me the most quizzical expressions some times; he could even look confused, surprised and sad. He had this one look and a move that went with it; he knew it melted my heart He had allergies and twice a year I had to take him in for shots, I hated it almost as much as he did. Although we usually got the only room with windows when we went in. Which made the whole trip worthwhile for him. He owned my clothes, I had a lightweight jacket when he was a kitten; I was messing around with him while wearing it and put him in it with me. I zipped it up and the next thing I know, he’s crawled down the sleeve and popped his head out the armhole. Forever after, if he was cold and I was wearing that jacket, if it was zipped, he’d come and paw at
the zipper until I unzipped it and let him crawl in to get warm. He was my alarm clock and my lifesaver. He got used to my alarm going off at the same time every morning, so on my days off, he’d try to wake me up. And my family and I truly believe that he saved my life more than once during his ownership of me. I was just diagnosed with sleep apnea about a year ago, but my parents suspected it for years. On more than one occasion, I’d wake up to my Mackerel pawing at my face and mouth trying to wake me up. We believe I stopped breathing or he could sense that I was going to. (OR he just couldn’t stand the snoring!) He wasn’t as much of a hunter or druggie as his sister (she had real cat-nip issues), but he did catch a bird that had somehow gotten into the house one time. Besides flies and spiders-that was the only “live” hunt either of them went on. He was a long and lean cat, he could sit on his haunches and stretch all the way up and touch my waistline to get my attention when I was doing something else. And he’d always give a little, “Mreorw” to make sure I felt sorry for him. I knew I was being played, but I didn’t care, he wanted attention and I was more than willing to give it to He didn’t like lying on the table itself. There had to be something on it for him to lie on, papers, potholders, place mats. It didn’t matter if it was just one envelope, as long as he wasn’t directly on the table, he would lie on it. I was proud to be owned by such a specimen of cat. When I had to make the decision that his quality of life wasn’t up to par with what it had been because of his health, it just about broke my heart in two. I requested that we get the room at the vet’s that he liked the best, and he got put in his favorite lightweight jacket of mine. It’s been three years, and my heart still isn’t healed, but I lived with and loved a silly, goof ball of a cat named Mackerel, and one day, there will be another. -110
