I got Bouncer in 1990, from a friend who had a long-haired orange tabby who’d been hanging out with a neighborhood Siamese. The unnamed kitten came home with my then-boyfriend (later my second husband) from the friend’s house, having sat in the other seat watching out the window for most of the fifty-mile trip, and having not complained about the car or the movement. Bouncer was a mellow kitten; he moved in, made instant friends with the other cat in the house, my pedigreed Persian, Fafhrd (named for Fritz Leiber’s wonderful hero), and chose me as his person. He became my writing buddy, my friend, and my companion.
He was with me when I wrote my first published novel, Fire in the Mist, and he was with me through every book since, frequently curled up under my desk where I could rub his tummy with a foot, or where I could rest my feet on him while I typed.
If you read Minerva Wakes, you know him. He was Murp. He was the cat who would come when called, from wherever he might have been. I remember whistling and yelling “Bouncer!” when he was young, and waiting for a minute, and seeing him sail over the chain-link fence in the back yard without even stopping on the top. He would gallop up to me and careen to a stop, just to see what I wanted. He didn’t walk or trot up and down stairs. He bounced. Hence the name.
He gardened with me, walking through but never on my plantings. It sounds stupid, but if I sniffed the flowers, he’d sniff the flowers, or at least stick his nose in them to see what was so interesting. He’d try to play board games with the kids, which lead to occasional wails from de-housed Monopoly players and his ejection from the bedroom in question. Where we were, he was, and he was there for all of us. But I was his person.
When the kids and I were on our own, he did his best to step in as provider, bringing me the back halves of neighborhood squirrels on several occasions. Thankfully, at some point he realized that we were doing all right, foodwise, and he stopped that. He was the inventor of squirrel-foot tea, a one-time invention that the other cats, by then Fafhrd, Grey Mouser, Winnie-the-Pooh, Tigger, and Hrogner, all loved.
He was not without his vices. He loved pizza, and was capable of procuring his own. He’d jump to the top of the fridge (which in that old house stood away from any counters or other launch pads—he was a tremendous athlete in his younger days), and open Domino’s pizza boxes, and eat the one or two slices we always had left over, all except for the rim of crust around the end. His favorite was pepperoni.
He was a bit of a slob. Having started life as an indoor/outdoor cat with an adventurous streak, he had a sort of Guy Thing going. He didn’t mind being dirty until one of us noticed and brushed him. He was, in his later years, an indoor cat, and pals and nap buddies with our youngest cat, Spenser (named for Robert Parker’s hero), who is as fastidious as Bouncer was messy. Spenser spent time keeping Bouncer groomed and his face clean. I never saw Bouncer return the favor.
Bouncer was a comfort through two divorces, a friend to three children who were sometimes clumsy but who never even knew he had claws because those claws never came out, even by accident. Even when the youngest, as a toddler, fell on top of him or picked him up by his hind quarters once.
He was a chatty guy but without the shrill Siamese voice, who was waiting outside the bedroom door when I came out in the morning and who followed me around the house, talking to me, throughout every single day. Even yesterday, even when he was failing so badly and was having a hard time walking, when he was down to weighing almost nothing and it hurt to see him that way, he met me at the door in the morning, and he greeted me at the front door when we came home from shopping. I rubbed his tummy and he purred.
And then I came out to help Matt start supper, and saw him under the table. He was already gone. It had been quick. Quiet. He was there for seventeen years, and then all of a sudden he wasn’t.
We buried him last night with a favorite toy and something of mine, and we stood by the grave, and I couldn’t think of anything to say but, “He was a good cat. And a good friend.”
We ordered a pepperoni pizza from Domino’s in his honor—it’s the first time in years we’ve had one, because we didn’t need it and neither did he. But last night we opened the box, and I remembered catching him on top of the fridge carefully working the box top open in order to get his prize, and I had to smile.
I’ll miss rubbing his tummy, miss hearing his cheerful greeting in the morning, miss talking to him as I do the laundry or the dishes and having him talk back. Mornings will be colder and books lonelier to write without him.
I hope there’s a place with a sunny window sill for him to stretch out on somewhere, with birds and bugs and breezes full of interesting smells. I hope there are trees to climb and roofs to thunder across at full speed. I know I’ll think of him that way.
Mostly, though, I hope I was as good a friend to him as he was to me.
I’m so sorry about your loss. ~hugs~
I’m so sorry you lost your friend. I hope the memories you have will bring you some comfort.
> When I do the cat count at night …
Yup. Yup. (Nods head.)
I keep looking for him. When I do the cat count at night to make sure nobody got shut into one of the offices, I keep expecting to count for him. I’m down to two. Easy to count. Hard to count.
Thank you so much, all of you, for the condolences.
I know how horrible it is to lose a beloved pet when other things in your life are all messed up. My kitty passed away the day my husband came home from the hospital after a nearly fatal car accident a few years back. Having to dig his grave and bury him alone was one of the worst thing I’ve ever had to do.
I’m so sorry for you!
I’m so sorry for your loss. It doesn’t get easier, does it?
Oh Holly… I am so sorry. Bouncer has been with you forever and although I never actually met him, I always took it for granted he was there taking care of you.
So sorry for the loss of your special fur friend.
I’m so sorry, Holly. He sounds like he was an awesome kitty.
I’m sorry, Holly. (((((HUGS)))))
I am so sorry, Holly. (My heart still aches over the pets I’ve lost in the last five years.) Thanks for sharing such a moving tribute to your kitty.
Hi, Holly. My condolences. I too have lost favorite cats. I could tell you stories, but I’m not sure what the point would be. You have your own stories to tell. Thanks so much for sharing.
I am so very sorry. I know losing a friend like that can be very difficult. He sounds completely amazing – I especially liked how you talked about him trying to smell the flowers. Very beautiful tribute. My thoughts are with you and yours.
They ask so little from us, and give so much in return. I’m sure there’s a sunny window waiting on the Other Side.
((((Holly)))) Bouncer sounds like one terrific friend and cat.
Only an amazing writer could make me cry with a story about a cat! I was crying before I got to the part about his death (although the title gave the end away), and that’s saying something because I haven’t cried in a long time. I am so very sorry for your loss and I hope you are doing well. You and Bouncer will be in my thoughts and prayers.
It stinks when we lose someone we love. He sounds like such a special cat.
If you ever decide you want a new cat, I have a million of them that I’d like to find homes for…
I lost my Gremlyn in March. She was a tabby/Siamese/Abyssinian cross. I was her person for nearly fourteen years. We had ‘conversations’ like the ones you describe here. I could never get the last word. She loved to ride around on my shoulder. She would groom my eyelashes when I cried.
the grief can sometimes feel as fresh as yesterday but its always accompanied by smiles and laughter from remembering the kooky things she did. Like finding her sleeping in a salad bowl on the second shelf above the counter; more than once. we couldn’t break her of it so had to break ourselves from leaving the cupboard doors open.
I loved your story about Bouncer and the pizza atop the fridge and how you order a pizza in his honor. such a cool memorial ritual.
There is nothing like having a cat adopt you as his person. Bouncer got a special person; you got a special cat. Somewhere, he’s thinking of you, too.
It sounds as though you were definitely Bouncer’s human. A bond like that is very special.
I’ll be thinking of you.
*HUGE HUGS* I know how hard it is to lose a kitty. My thoughts are with you.
I know that hurts like—well, like losing a member of the family. When I lost Simba–I wrote an article and had it put in Vision, because I wanted to immortalize her in some way. She was just such a cat as Bouncer. Writing the article was like a catharsis, in a way, but when I think of her, I still get choked up. I’m so sorry.
I’m so sorry. You’ll be in my thoughts.
HUGS Holly. That’s always rough, but it sounds like he enjoyed those 17 years as much as you did.
It’s always tough to lose a friend. This is a very touching tribute to a well-loved cat.