Haji was my friend. Of all the cats I've ever had, each one fun and unique and a joy in their own way, Haji was the one. My minion. My familiar. My jester. My toy. My friend.
Haji would come to me when I got home from work. He would follow me around the house, to the kitchen, the bathroom, out on to the porch if he could. He'd sit on the window sill and wait while I took a shower. Patient, waiting for my words or my touch.
He was loyal in a way that many felines I've known won't let themselves be. Haji forfeited the snooty autonomy many cats hold, and allowed himself to be a little force of "loving submission".
He knew how to be a pest, and seemed to enjoy that more in his old age. His desire to be held, touched, acknowleged - it became obsessive in the end. I think he sensed his end coming. He knew it was soon his time.
His belly was the softest - I always said, "The plush that all plush should be measured against." He'd let me roll him on his back and play in his plush tummy. He put up with a lot, that guy. Like a plushy soft puppet that purred.
I'll always miss him, and never will another replace him. A little tiny part of me has died with him. Today my heart is bruised, broken, aching. I'll miss him always. Putting that old cat into the cold winter ground was heart wrenching. I wish I could hold him tonight.
Thank you for posting Haji's obit on your journal. It was so nice to read all the comforting words your friends offered.
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Of all the cats I've ever had, each one fun and unique and a joy in their own way, Haji was the one. My minion. My familiar. My jester. My toy. My friend.
Haji would come to me when I got home from work. He would follow me around the house, to the kitchen, the bathroom, out on to the porch if he could. He'd sit on the window sill and wait while I took a shower. Patient, waiting for my words or my touch.
He was loyal in a way that many felines I've known won't let themselves be. Haji forfeited the snooty autonomy many cats hold, and allowed himself to be a little force of "loving submission".
He knew how to be a pest, and seemed to enjoy that more in his old age. His desire to be held, touched, acknowleged - it became obsessive in the end. I think he sensed his end coming. He knew it was soon his time.
His belly was the softest - I always said, "The plush that all plush should be measured against." He'd let me roll him on his back and play in his plush tummy. He put up with a lot, that guy. Like a plushy soft puppet that purred.
I'll always miss him, and never will another replace him. A little tiny part of me has died with him. Today my heart is bruised, broken, aching. I'll miss him always. Putting that old cat into the cold winter ground was heart wrenching. I wish I could hold him tonight.
Thank you for posting Haji's obit on your journal. It was so nice to read all the comforting words your friends offered.
Love always,
-Cat