the ocean always dreamed blue dreams

This is my cat, Puck. We've had him for a long time, about 18 years, I think. He is three years younger than Sukey, who was 20 when she passed on, on New Year's Day, 2009.

Anywho, it looks like we might have Puck with us for awhile longer. He is an extremely friendly, and indolent animal. He rarely moves. This has been his habit for as long as I've known him. He finds a place and camps out there for weeks at a time. Sometimes it's in the hallway off the kitchen, sometimes on the couch in the living room. Lately it's been in the small hallway at the top of our stairs, or on the bathroom floor just off it.

He used to spend a lot of time outside, but we don't let him out much anymore. He seemed really confused about a month ago, and while I think we solved that problem, we don't want to take the risk. Once about five years ago he didn't come home one morning. For some reason I wondered if someone thought he might need a good home, so I went and got him a collar with a tag that had his name on it. A while later, I can't remember how long, I got a phone call from someone who wanted to know if we had a cat named Puck. "Indeed we do," I said. He had made his way over to a house one street over, and I went to get him. The man chucked nervously, and said, "He seemed hungry." "He's always like that," I said, as I stuffed him into the cat carrier.

We had a neighbor who moved last year, a nice lady who had two cats. Whenever she came home, Puck would run across the street to get a little pet from her. You'd think we ignored him. I guess we did, since he was usually asleep when he was inside. But if you did pet him, it wouldn't be long before you hear the soft, slow rumble of his purr.

This is how we came to own him. One day when my kids were very young we were leaving the house, and there was a black cat. Of course this excited all kinds of interest and curiosity, but we still had to go. When we got back he was, to our excitement, still there. He had such a presence, and we were all so taken with him; we decided to try to find his owner, and if they didn't want him, we did. The boys had heard that he lived around the corner, so off we went. As we approached, we were greeted by a man and his kids, who knew our cat. He was very friendly, we were told, and he had a crook in his tail, right at the very tip. His owners no longer wanted him. They pointed at a house across the street, and when we knocked, a young girl, about 13, came to the door. "Do you want him,?" she asked. We said yes.

We feel very lucky that Puck came to our house to stay. My middle son suggested his name, "because he's black, like a hockey puck," he said. For a year or two he brought us lots of presents as we were leaving the house, dead birds and mice. We were always appreciative.

Earlier this summer, about the middle of July, he began to howl. It went on incessantly. I thought maybe he was getting kitty Alzheimer's, but then he began to lose weight, so I took him to the vet who did a blood test. When we got home later that day, I decided to take the flea comb to him. I had already put flea medication on him, but he was still scratching away. I ran the comb through the fur along his back and down to the tip of his tail. It was black with fleas and flea eggs, and that was why he was howling. I combed and combed him over the next day or so; I finally gave him a bath with regular shampoo and that got rid of the flea eggs, and I am glad to say that he is resting comfortably in his little aerie. I got him some top of the line cat food which he seems to like, and which must be pretty good as my other cats perk up their ears when they smell it, but it's Purina cat chow for them.

The vet called a few days later with the results of the blood test. Puck has Corona Virus, which is not treatable. The vet is giving him 5 mg prednisone for his anemia, and he looks almost like his old self.

When I took him to the vet, the vet tech picked him up and said, "You don't stray too far from your food bowl, I see," and the when the vet opened the cat carrier, Puck kind of poured out, purring. The vet called him a regular purring machine.

He's still got the old charisma, and he's still making friends, and if we're lucky, he'll still be ours for a little while longer.