It is really coming down out there right now. Here I am all snug in the house--early shift at work has me out of there by 3:30. The 6 AM alarm ain't so great, but the early departure is really nice.
Today, May 4th, is the 31st anniversary of the birth of my darling cat Mo (short for Mohandas K. Gandhi--I was a young, impressionable teen when I got Mo, and thought Gandhi was a Numero Uno Dude, so I named my cat after him. Rather misnamed, since Mo was all swaggery machismo with very little pacific about his personality. I still think MKG is a great man, though.) Mo was born in 1978, out of a white cat named Chaos, one of four kittens. I saw him and felt a bond immediately. I can't explain it; I just had a good feeling and begged both my parents and Chaos' person to let me have him. Sometimes it's like that with animals.
Mo had a big hiccup at age 2--he was running laps on the flat part of the roof at my folks' house, slipped and fell about 15 feet. He blew out his left knee and tore his diaphragm muscle about 75% loose from his chest wall. My parents, bless them, paid for expensive surgery and his vet Dr. Silver did a great job--Mo lived another 16 years after his accident, dying of kidney failure in 1996 at the age of 18. If you look closely at the picture, you can just barely see the midline scar of his surgery. He is about 10 years old here, in his characteristic roadkill pose that either says "It's too ****ing hot!" or "Here's my belly, notice me!!!"
Mo had one of those spirits that I truly hope I run into again in this lifetime. He was one of the mellowest, quirkiest cats I have ever known and he and I loved each other as only a cat and a cat lover can. I was definitely his person and I still feel priveleged. He was totally unfazed by other people, though and would work a house party of 20-30 people like a seasoned master.
"Hi. Welcome to my house."
"Thanks for sitting--I was looking for some lap."
"Tasty appetizers, yes? Don't mind if I do."
The January before he died, one of my roommates had a Superbowl party and Mo did his typical working of the room. Mo died on June 30th, 1996. The following January, another Superbowl party was in the works and one of my roommate's friends, who had attended the year before, asked "if that cat Mo was going to be there?", and when he was told that Mo had died he replied, "No point in having a party, then.". Mo was that cool of a cat.
So, Happy Birthday, Mo, wherever you are!!
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