George the Cat

This morning we lost our long time companion George.  As you can see from the picture, he had a tough life.

When we got him as a kitten, he had trouble getting around on our hardwood floors, so we called him Gracie because he was the most graceless kitten you would ever want to see, and Marilyn thought he was a she.

She became Queen of the House, terrorizing Wally, and shredding hands whenever she felt a need to exercise her claws.

Imagine our surprise when we took her to be spayed, and the vet told us she was really a he.  It was at this point that he became George.

When he graduated to being an outdoor cat, he took to it like a fish to water.  He was king of the yard, and kept it free of birds, squirrels, and whatever else he took a dislike to.  He would sit by the front door, or on one of the porch chairs waiting for us to return from where ever we were, and would bound down the front steps to greet us like a dog.  He would patiently wait by the front door for us to feed him, except on those days when he would scratch at the storm door to get our attention and demand his food.  On those rare occasions when he could come into the house, he would occupy whatever lap was available and sleep until someone had to get up.

I'm not particularly a cat person, but George was OK in my book.

George, rest well in whatever feline heaven you've gone to.  Be the lion that was in your heart.  You will be missed.