Mopsy Was A Good Cat

She was more than that. She was a fine lady.

I adopted her when I was still “living in sin” some seventeen years ago or so. She’s traveled a long, long way with me.

I don’t even know why I traipsed into Petsmart that day and walked straight to the adoption center. It was just something I had to do.
I had lost my pets, my other dear friends, a few years earlier. I guess it was Fate that led me to Mopsy.

She was curled up in a corner, and I was immediately drawn to her long hair. I had never had a longhaired cat before. Not a one had ever crossed my path before. Now, here was this ball of fluff…with personality.

Beautiful as her fur was, the rest of Mopsy left a bit to be desired. She was sway-backed, like some broken farm mare. Her legs were short and stubby, terminating in impressively large paws. She was the personification of a dainty battering ram.

She was every inch a 21st century gal in her demeanor and spirit.
She was smart. Probably the smartest cat I’d ever known…definitely wilier than I. She had an independent spirit, an inquisitive, playful, courageous fire. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and knew exactly how to get it.

She had more than just a streak of feral killer inside of her. When we began our long-term love affair, she was apt to bite me hard when she wanted to get my attention or warn me to quit while I was ahead. Not one to take reprimands lightly, I would nip her ear. Never hard enough to hurt, mind you, just firmly enough to get her attention. Cats don’t “do” humiliation well.

We nipped back and forth for a few years. She was stubborn that way. In due course, we reached an accommodation. She took to simply mouthing me as a means of communicating, and I, in turn, would kiss her ear. We’ve lived together harmoniously ever since.

Mopsy was always on the “fluffy” side (if you know what I mean). When in full bloom, her stomach swayed at floor level. She carried it off well, though. The lady had “attitude” and style.

She had a long life. A full life. She was loved and she knew it. In return, she taught me her feline ways. I speak truth when I say she made me a better person.

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Mopsy’s come to the end of her ninth life. I doubt she will survive the night. We’ve been comforting each other all day.

Mopsy was a good cat.

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