Sarge

A number of years ago (fifteen and one half to be exact), my husband and I were newlyweds. We were broke. I was a divorcee with a ten year old son. My new husband had never been married, and was a struggling entrepreneur, and held down a second job working in the family business while his father was battling cancer. My son was to turn eleven and we couldn’t afford much.

It was close to Halloween, and the pet store had a litter of black kittens for sale. We all fell in love with a black kitten with a small white splotch of with fur on his chest, and the whitest, longest whiskers I had ever seen. We secretly arranged to have the kitten picked up the Saturday before Brian’s birthday.

Jeff returned home with not one, but two little kittens that day. “Mr. Whiskers” and a littermate. Jeff said that the other kitty would have been left alone, all of the kittens had found homes except that one. When they got Whiskers out of the cage, the other kitty howled so pitifully that Jeff couldn’t leave him behind. The man at the pet store gave him a “BOGO” (though I seriously suspect that Jeff might have paid him for the extra kitten).

We decided to call the other kitty “Sergeant Pepper”. He was handsome -- grey underwear, with chocolate brown/black tips. A couple of white hairs on his chest. In a certain light it looked like he had stripes. Over the years he’s acquired many other names -- “Mr. Surly” and “Mr. Pissy” (more for his attitude than his bathroom habits), but we just call him “Sarge” most of the time.

He quickly became attached to Jeff . Ever the inquisitor, Sarge is eager to issue a gruff “Meow - where ya goin?’”, “Meow - where ya’ been?”, “Meow - love me”. Even at the age of 15, he remains the alpha cat. Mr. Whiskers disappeared about ten years ago… Sarge remains, but for how much longer -- we’re not sure.

A few years ago, he developed an abscess, and it was discovered that he had FIP. He had been doing OK until recently, when he started having labored breathing. A trip to the vet confirmed the worst, and we will soon lose our Sargeant. Right now he’s resting comfortably in a clothes basket and I realized how much I’ll miss him when he’s gone…



Post Script: Sometime during the wee morning hours of March 13th, Sarge died. I just showed Jeff this blog, and once he came to the photo said, "That's the quintessential Sarge pose -- Meow, why the hell are you taking my picture".