Merlin was a good cat.
She was a mighty hunter in her youth.
She would line her trophies up by the front door and wait for
me to trip over them.
After she became a house cat,
Merlin gave up hunting birds and instead became the
terror of spiders and crickets.
Merlin liked to sit for hours in front of the fish tanks, and
watch the fish swim in circles.
She even tried to catch them!
One time she tried to snag a goldfish out of the pond.
She snaked out that lightening fast paw, only to find it
thrust into that icky wet stuff called water.
Oh, was Merlin mad!
Hissss! Spit! Grwwwl!
Merlin was a brave cat. She would jump from balcony to balcony, or walk the narrow ledges between apartments rather than run down three flights and then back up three flights. She wasn't afraid of dogs, people or vacuum cleaners. Or even remote controlled cars ... when Merlin was tired of playing chase, she would turn around and attack the car. One time she smashed one of the cars so soundly that the plastic body cracked! No bookcase was too high for her to reach. And Christmas trees were always an adventure. No matter how high up I put the fragile glass ornaments, Merlin would climb the tree and take them down.
Merlin was a love cat. Whenever I was sad or depressed, Merlin was there. She would cuddle close and turn on the purr machine. She never betrayed a condifence, and she never criticized or berated. Merlin's aloofness was only a facade; scratch her under the chin or behind the ears and the purring would start. She even accepted wet doggy kisses from Nikki when she thought no one was watching.
Merlin was a silly cat. Give her catnip (or something a little stronger) and Merlin would turn into one silly little kitty, rolling on the floor, stalking imaginary bugs and running through the house. She also liked the smell of certain brands of shampoo. It was a little disconcerting to my friend Eric when Merlin would rub against his head or beard and start purring.
Merlin graced this world with her presence for just over 19 years. And when it was her time, she knew it, and went forward without hesitation. We opened that last door for her, the one that leads to everylasting summer, and Merlin stepped bravely through. Her brothers and sisters-in-fur were waiting to show her where to find the best patch of sidewalk for rolling, and the spot where the sun is just perfect for sleeping.
The Door Into Summer is a book by Robert Heinlein. Read it.
Copyright © 1998 by Liz Gensheimer.