“The cat has too much spirit to have no heart.” ~ Ernest Menaul
Smudge came to live with me in 1992. She was found during a rainstorm covered in oil and mud and needed a home. The vet said she was probably about a year old at the time, maybe two.
She was shy and aloof but full of life. She didn’t like vacuum cleaners. Or men. She did like sleeping in a patch of sunshine, running around the apartment at full speed, and staring at me and my roommate imperiously.
In 1996 when I moved to New York, Smudge went to live with my mom until I got settled. While she would have adjusted eventually, I don’t think Smudge would have enjoyed living in New York. I was grateful when my mom said, “You know, Smudge can be a Portland cat. That would be okay.” Had Smudge known, I’m certain she would have been grateful too.
You see, Smudge was really my mom’s cat. Or maybe it was that she had decided that my mom was her person.
Smudge enjoyed the wall-to-wall carpet, picture windows, food treats and being brushed under the chin. She loved the structure of my mom’s life, and she loved my mom (or at the very least liked having her around… sometimes it’s hard to tell with cats). I think my mom enjoyed her company, too, despite Smudge’s tendency to claw at the wallpaper, and of course, the shedding.
Smudge died yesterday. It’s very sad, but I’m grateful that she lived a long happy life: she was cared for and she was free to live according to her nature. I don’t think any of us could ask for more.
See you later, Smudge. We’ll miss you.
