Some sad news for those of you who knew my former cat, Volodya. He passed away in his sleep a couple days ago at my mom's house, where he had been living for years. When you look at the different ways to go, dying in your sleep on a comfy bed in a warm house has to be at or near the top of the list, but he will be missed.
Volodya was born somewhere in the greater DC metropolitan area in late 1992 with health problems: a crooked spine that gave him a quizzical look and membranes covering his eyes. He was found alone in the snow and taken to an animal rescue group. An operation solved his eye problems, but his head remained slightly cocked, as if he was amused at everything around him.
I adopted him as a friend for the dearly departed Kosmo, who was just a few months older than him. The two of them got along, though I suspect Kosmo always envied Volodya for getting to ride in the cabin, and not in stowage, when all three of us moved to Moscow in 1994.
Although named after Vlad the Impaler ("Volodya" is Russian for "little Vlad"), Volodya was a lover, not a fighter. He was a very kneady cat, and loved to stand on you and methodically knead your arms and chest while purring at jet-engine volumes. He also enjoyed sitting in the kitchen sink, and playing fetch with a toy made of glittery feathers.
Volodya tolerated the arrival of Wiley in 1995, but remained a conscientious objector when the two dogs rough-housed. Although they never hurt him, they enjoyed licking and gumming him, and Volodya never protested. But when I stepped out of the shower one day to find Kosmo and Wiley playing tug-of-war with Volodya, I decided it was perhaps best to send him to a calmer environment. Volodya moved in with my mom soon after, and it was there that he spent the rest of his days in pampered comfort with his close feline friend Lucky, the equally mellow canid Shadow and an assortment of other adopted cats and dogs.
Today while hiking along a snowy trail in the Indian Peaks Wilderness with Wiley, now 13 but still up for a game of tug-of-war, I heard a low rumble overhead. Maybe it was a prop plane, hidden in the clouds, or an avalanche deep in the mountains, but I like to think it was Volodya, comfortable on his new perch, looking down with a purr.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Dammit, you made me cry!
I totally forgot about V's playing fetch, but as soon as you mentioned it, it came vividly back to me. Maybe because he lived with canids, he thought he was one.
I didn't even know that cat and you still made me cry.
I'm partial to any animal with a head tilt, though (Lumpy).
So sorry for your loss, but I'll listen for the purr in the sky.
I was sorry to hear about V's passing.
I always enjoyed watching him interact with mom's yappy little frou-frou dogs - they'd often mock-charge at him or otherwise act aggressively but he was never the slightest bit impressed. Shadow, on the other hand, treated him with respect he deserved.
When the dogs got active around feeding time or walkies, mom's other cats would hide until things settled down. Not V - he'd be right out there with the 3 dogs, standing with crooked-neck feline dignity, and if they jostled him he'd give an annoyed meow or silently bare his teeth and they'd cut him a wide berth. At feeding time the little dogs love to steal high-protein vittles from the cat bowl - but not until V had his fill. He had a great temperment - gentle but not taking no guff from nobody.
Very nice tribute you've written here, too.
M
Post a Comment