Requiem for Stellan
I always referred to him as “the cat who came with the house.” He did. When I asked my new neighbors about the black and white cat who kept scratching at my door wanting to be let in, they told me he was the “neighborhood cat.” He was. One neighbor called him Goofball. Another called him Funnyface. We called him Stellan Stanley. He was his own cat, and that was how he liked it. He came almost every night for dinner, stayed a while to snuggle on the couch while I watched TV, then, unless it was too cold or raining, he always asked to go out again. He even learned to ring the bells hanging on my front door to let me know he was ready to go out. In the fall and spring, his favorite place to spend the night was on top of the heater outside my bedroom window. That’s how he wanted it. He was a friend to all. Our other animals accepted him as a part of their family, as did we humans. When Cody, my dear canine companion for 18 years, passed away in the winter of 2010, it was Stellan who understood, who asked to come inside long before dinnertime and stayed long past dinnertime, to curl up beside me and offer me his warm purrs. He knew. And when he felt I was sufficiently healed, he knew that, too. We understood each other. A few nights ago, he did not come for dinner. We worried about him because we had noticed he was growing more and more feeble in his old age, and his mind seemed to wander at times, but now and then, he would fail to show up for dinner, so we thought he would probably be back the next night. But he didn’t come back the next night, either. We then learned that our next-door neighbor, the one who called him Goofball, had found him on her front porch. She said he had passed away in the night. Stellan, I miss you. I look outside my bedroom window at night and miss seeing you curled up on the heater. I looked for your face at the front window when it rained today, the place where you always came to peer in and let me know you wanted to come inside. I am sorry I did not get to say goodbye to you. I am sorry I was not there to comfort you as you comforted me when I needed you. But you died as you lived, as the “neighborhood cat.” You were your own cat. Always and forever.
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seems to have picked you to be his main person.
And you picked him by letting him in and feeding him. Stellan sounds like he was a good friend (and quite a character).
I'm sorry for your loss.
We had two cats who "came with the house". We used to say it was their house, and they just let us live in it. One of them passed away years ago, but the other, a gorgeous calico, left us just last year. It was so sad, one of the few times I've seen my husband cry. She was almost twenty years old, and had given us such warmth and comfort over the years. She helped us raise our children, and taught all of our other pets how to behave. She was a grande damme.
I know Stellan knew that you loved him. Cats like Stellan always know.
Such special animals.
beautiful story!
My neighbor cared for a cat with a couple of others and I always thought that was fascinating.
I am glad he was found. It helps a little.
All my best from my brood and I
DB
We have a neighborhood cat. We call her Skittles because she looks like she has candy pieces on her back (Calico). Our indoor cats visit with her just about every day through the window.
