Edgar’s Mom

When I decided to start a blog, I was thinking long and hard about what I would call it. I came to Edgar’s Mom because he was part of my first mark of independence.

When I moved into my first home away from my parents’ home, I lived alone for about a month. I could feel the “aloneness” like an uncomfortable skirt. It was too short and I should have donated it. Just because a person can doesn’t mean that they should.

I’d always had a cat.

When I was three, my dad brought home a kitten. I’d been begging for a cat and I played with a neighborhood cat that claimed by swing set as home. But France, as I named it, could not come in the house.

I was napping when my dad got home. He placed the tiny ink colored kitten on the bed and she toddled up to me in her tiny kitten way.

“Oh….. kitty!” I exclaimed.

I wavered between naming her Barbie or Maxi. Maxi was the name of another popular doll and the advertisement jingle said something about “Maxi with the beautiful hair.” It was fitting for such a beautiful cat.

Maxi grew up with me. She played with me as a little girl. Including many epic Matchbox car races. She did homework with me as a teenager. She “helped” me get ready for many high school dances and dates. She studied with me when we were in college. She threw books when nothing made sense in graduate school.

I am glad I still lived at home when she passed.

It was July, 2008.

I was 23.

I moved out in 2011 and within a month, I needed someone to talk to when I was in my new home.

I began searching Petfinder for available cats. I knew I wanted an adult, and I wasn’t partial on age. I am an equal opportunity pet lover.

I found Edgar on the website for Oakland County Animal Control.  He had the most striking green eyes. His picture was of him curled into a ball in the back of a shelter cage and he was looking over his shoulder with a look that could have bent titanium. He didn’t care who was there or what was going on. He also looked snow white.

I wanted him. There was something about that attitude he displayed in the photo that just screamed “he NEEDS to be YOURS”.

A few days later, I drove to the shelter and walked up to the desk.

“I am here for Edgar.”

“Do you want to meet him?”

“Sure, but I already know I want him.” I announced.

The woman working the desk escorted me to Edgar’s shelter cage. She pulled him out and handed him to me. I was surprised to see that he had patches of black on his body that I couldn’t see in the photograph.  I was also surprised at how robust he was. I’d never had a male cat. Edgar was huge.

We were taken to a small visitor’s room to get acquainted with each other. I placed him on the floor and took a seat to pet him. He whirled around and hissed at me. The one and only time he would perform such an action.

“There were puppies in here last week.”  The volunteer made sure to assure me.

“It doesn’t matter.” I proclaimed and looked at Edgar, “I like you old man. You’re coming home with me.”

His kennel card said that he was five years old and had been dropped off on a porch in Troy, Michigan.

I drove Edgar home and introduced him to our new home one room at a time. It took him about an hour to wander around the house and the rooms that I opened for him one at a time. Then, in no time, we were peas and carrots. Edgar strolled into the living room and jumped into my lap. He circled and sprawled out across my legs. And purred.

From that day on, we were inseparable. Edgar slept with me. He waited on the kitchen counter and greeted me when I came in from work. When I got married, he accepted my husband, and he “allowed” my spouse to pet him. But Edgar was still his mommy’s big guy.

He continues to be the best fifty dollars that I have ever spent. Or likely will ever spend.

My Edgar passed away on December 21, 2015.  My husband and I made the painful decision to put him down after discovering that he had massive fluid surrounding his heart and lungs. Our brave boy was trying to stay alive but he was suffering. Edgar deserved better. So we gave him that.

Edgar helped me proclaim my independence. But he was also a beacon. Always there to guide me home and greet me. I bought a house, but a white and black aging cat with brilliant green eyes made it a home.

I am Edgar’s Mom.

This summer, I plan to create a memorial garden for him in the yard that he watched from his favorite perches inside the house. He lived the life of a gentleman, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I plan to sit there.

And write.

 

 

 

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