Ishkabibble

Ish, an excellent mouser, reigned supreme in the art of comfort, be it napping, eating (his or the dog’s food), or being petted. He was a hefty brown tabby when I met him at an adoption fair (Four Paws rescued him from a Delaware shelter). His selling point, all fur and purr.

While reputed to get along with other animals, in truth, Ish didn’t give a damn about other animals, zealously focusing on humans in the vicinity. (Hey they provided the food and the attention, no fool he).

His desire to sleep on and about humans was nearly absurd, like the time he tried to get his then significant avoirdupois to fall evenly around his four paws so he could sleep on my hip. Of course, he just kept falling off, and climbing up to try again, and falling off, and climbing up and falling off. Not one to give up an idea easily.

Later, his major complaint was my insistence on rising daily, which he fought back with cute snuggling or face-batting. Since he did not see the point of rising until after noon, we never did agree: Rising after another difficult day (or not):

Talkative and social, he would enthusiastically greet all-comers at the door if the dog were out (that loud creature was always a little off-putting). If not, he would sneak around to see people, assuming it wasn’t naptime.

Illness and time took their toll. Ish stopped chatting some time back. He managed a fierce pirate imitation when his right eye failed and his right front leg stiffened, but he purred on. Last night he breathed his last.