Sifting through some pictures to post on the picture forum, I came across a bunch of Bobo. I usually don't like to talk about Bobo, its a rather touchy subject for me, probably becuase I don't deal well with grief. No, that is a lie. I have dealt fine with the loss of family and friends, but Bobo was some one I simply was unable to greive for properly. Like I said, I don't like to speak about him, which is probably very unhealthy, but I guess it's time I write about him a bit and maybe that will help get over him.
I remember finding Bobo very clearly. Surprising since I was only 3, and have no other real memories from that time. It was the end of summer, and afternoon. My maternal and paternal grandmothers lived across the street from one another in a sleepy southwestern Pennsylvania town. We lived in the upstairs apartment of my maternal grandmothers house. Mom and I had just gotten back from somewhere and parked in the street, when we saw my cousins out at my other grandma's. We walked across the street to see what was going on. They had chased a stray cat into the shrubs at my Granny's and were trying to scare him out with a stick. I remember climbing down between the bushes and the brick wall and reaching the cat. I pulled him out with me and got my first good look at 'Hobo'. He was tiny, matted, brown and sickly. Mom and I took him home and gave him a bath, then took him to the vet. He had worms.
In a few months, Bobo (I couldn't pronounce the H in his original name 'Hobo') put on weight and turned black, from the good nutrition. His worms were gone and he was a healthy cat, about 3 years old.
Bobo was always a good kitty, well, sorta. He was surly and sour, reminding me always of a mean old man. Crochety and condescending. But I loved him anyway. Perhaps too much, as he developed a complex, thinking he was superior to all, including me. Because of his superiority complex, I teased him, calling him "His Worshipfulness" and "Your Highness". I don't think he caught onto the sarcasm.
I have tons of memories of Bobo: knocking down our Christmas tree, wrapping himself in the gold beads for the tree (see the picture on the picture forum). Bobo used to put the dogs into their place. And sulk when we brought new animals into the house. When we brought Chaos in, Bobo refused to acknowledge her. He sat under the table with his back to her, and when she walked around to face him, he would turn his back again. Bobo was a big boy, and I think at his peak weighed about 20 lbs. He loved to sit on our sun porch, when he was getting older, and prowl our yard for gifts of moles when he was younger. He always had to give his approval of my boyfriends: either with a nuzzle or a swat of his paw. Bobo had excellent taste. He was a dignified eater, picking up each peice of food with his paw and feeding himself by his paw rather than stick his face in his food dish. He would accept only the softest of beds, my pillow, regardless if my head was there or not. He loved to hide in our cupboards, even climbing beneath them to hide from us. Bobo was there with me throughout everything. My parents divorce, the multiple moves, all the drama of a teenage life. College.
As he aged, he took on a more rugged appearance. He had notches in his ears from his days as a street cat. He formed a cateract behind one eye, and due to his age (15 at the time) they were unable to remove it. He wasn't in pain, but the eye was 1 and a half times the size of his normal eye and he was blind in it as well. I thought this added to his charm. As he grew older, his teeth began to fall out, making us switch to soft cat food. Seafood, soft cat food, mind you. He was much to elegant to eat chicken or beef or lamb. By the time he was 19 he had one eye bigger than the other and only one fang left. The bottom left one, which protruded from his jaw like some neanderthal with bad dental hygeine and an underbite. He was the most handsome kitty I had ever seen.
Bobo was in decline during his 21st year. He lost a great deal of weight. He would get ill, recover and get ill again. When I came home from school for Thanksgiving we made the decision that we couldn't let him continue in this pattern. There was more illness than health, and though Bobo bore it well, I couldn't do that to him. We called the house vet and set up an appointment. But, completely in character, Bobo was not going to let us dictate a time for him. The night before Thanksgiving I kissed him goodnight and went to bed. Bobo liked to sleep on the couch, and I wasn't going to deprive him of that for my sentimental reasons by bringing him to bed with me. I came down in the morning, and found Bobo. I had always hoped he would die quietly in his sleep. Bobo was not declawed. He had tried to climb onto the couch (I don't know why he had gotten down). Due to his arthritis, he couldn't jump and he usually had to pull himself up. Which was what he was trying to do when he passed away. His claws had kept him there. On first groggy sight, I didn't know what had happened, and I walked over to give him a boost. I have to say, Bobo's death was the most horrific experience of my life. I have nightmares to this day, and I still wish I had only brought him to bed with me that night. That is my biggest regret. I can honestly say that I have never loved human or animal as much as I loved Bobo and to find them passed like that, is the worst.
I think I am going to stop here. A small part of me hopes that having Grissom will help, and I think it has. But Bobo will always have the biggest peice of my heart.
I remember finding Bobo very clearly. Surprising since I was only 3, and have no other real memories from that time. It was the end of summer, and afternoon. My maternal and paternal grandmothers lived across the street from one another in a sleepy southwestern Pennsylvania town. We lived in the upstairs apartment of my maternal grandmothers house. Mom and I had just gotten back from somewhere and parked in the street, when we saw my cousins out at my other grandma's. We walked across the street to see what was going on. They had chased a stray cat into the shrubs at my Granny's and were trying to scare him out with a stick. I remember climbing down between the bushes and the brick wall and reaching the cat. I pulled him out with me and got my first good look at 'Hobo'. He was tiny, matted, brown and sickly. Mom and I took him home and gave him a bath, then took him to the vet. He had worms.
In a few months, Bobo (I couldn't pronounce the H in his original name 'Hobo') put on weight and turned black, from the good nutrition. His worms were gone and he was a healthy cat, about 3 years old.
Bobo was always a good kitty, well, sorta. He was surly and sour, reminding me always of a mean old man. Crochety and condescending. But I loved him anyway. Perhaps too much, as he developed a complex, thinking he was superior to all, including me. Because of his superiority complex, I teased him, calling him "His Worshipfulness" and "Your Highness". I don't think he caught onto the sarcasm.
I have tons of memories of Bobo: knocking down our Christmas tree, wrapping himself in the gold beads for the tree (see the picture on the picture forum). Bobo used to put the dogs into their place. And sulk when we brought new animals into the house. When we brought Chaos in, Bobo refused to acknowledge her. He sat under the table with his back to her, and when she walked around to face him, he would turn his back again. Bobo was a big boy, and I think at his peak weighed about 20 lbs. He loved to sit on our sun porch, when he was getting older, and prowl our yard for gifts of moles when he was younger. He always had to give his approval of my boyfriends: either with a nuzzle or a swat of his paw. Bobo had excellent taste. He was a dignified eater, picking up each peice of food with his paw and feeding himself by his paw rather than stick his face in his food dish. He would accept only the softest of beds, my pillow, regardless if my head was there or not. He loved to hide in our cupboards, even climbing beneath them to hide from us. Bobo was there with me throughout everything. My parents divorce, the multiple moves, all the drama of a teenage life. College.
As he aged, he took on a more rugged appearance. He had notches in his ears from his days as a street cat. He formed a cateract behind one eye, and due to his age (15 at the time) they were unable to remove it. He wasn't in pain, but the eye was 1 and a half times the size of his normal eye and he was blind in it as well. I thought this added to his charm. As he grew older, his teeth began to fall out, making us switch to soft cat food. Seafood, soft cat food, mind you. He was much to elegant to eat chicken or beef or lamb. By the time he was 19 he had one eye bigger than the other and only one fang left. The bottom left one, which protruded from his jaw like some neanderthal with bad dental hygeine and an underbite. He was the most handsome kitty I had ever seen.
Bobo was in decline during his 21st year. He lost a great deal of weight. He would get ill, recover and get ill again. When I came home from school for Thanksgiving we made the decision that we couldn't let him continue in this pattern. There was more illness than health, and though Bobo bore it well, I couldn't do that to him. We called the house vet and set up an appointment. But, completely in character, Bobo was not going to let us dictate a time for him. The night before Thanksgiving I kissed him goodnight and went to bed. Bobo liked to sleep on the couch, and I wasn't going to deprive him of that for my sentimental reasons by bringing him to bed with me. I came down in the morning, and found Bobo. I had always hoped he would die quietly in his sleep. Bobo was not declawed. He had tried to climb onto the couch (I don't know why he had gotten down). Due to his arthritis, he couldn't jump and he usually had to pull himself up. Which was what he was trying to do when he passed away. His claws had kept him there. On first groggy sight, I didn't know what had happened, and I walked over to give him a boost. I have to say, Bobo's death was the most horrific experience of my life. I have nightmares to this day, and I still wish I had only brought him to bed with me that night. That is my biggest regret. I can honestly say that I have never loved human or animal as much as I loved Bobo and to find them passed like that, is the worst.
I think I am going to stop here. A small part of me hopes that having Grissom will help, and I think it has. But Bobo will always have the biggest peice of my heart.
