Posted by: codecalla | October 25, 2016


My beautiful boy, Dickens, a 15/16 year old Maine Coon/Tabby mix passed away into the great beyond tonight.  I’ve had him since he was a kitten/rescue/stray.  I named him after Charles Dickens and because he was a bit of a trouble-maker.  He demonstrated why one needs to kitty-proof a house.

One time his tail caught on fire when his tail passed through the flame of a candle on a coffee stand.  Thankfully, I was right there and snuffed it out with my hand before he even realized anything was wrong.

He had a habit of getting in my lap whenever I sat at the desk to work on something.

On his first car trip to meet me, he pooped in the cat carrier for the two hour ride.  My parents were nearly gagging for the entire journey.

He taught my little girl kitty, Lina, how to cat.  Often they would stare out the window, almost perfect silhouettes of each other.

He would pal around with Boo, my late Siamese kitty, and spend hours playing/grooming.

My new kitty, Thirteen, doted on Dickens, and kissed him on the forehead with a lick when he was trying to pass away.

Dickens loved the squishy soccer balls and was quite a star when playing with them.  He absolutely loved those balls and would cry to play.  He would also fetch the balls back to me, so that I could throw it again.

Dickens and Boo were quite adventurous when I lived in a house.  Once they snuck out of the basement window screens and hunkered down, terrified in the back yard until I rescued them.

Dickens loved to have his picture taken.  He would pose while you would take his picture, unlike Lina, who is constantly moving and difficult to capture.

At a dinner with a friend, he sat in the chair, waiting for his portion.  My friend was pretty amused.

Dickens loved watching birds out the window and would chirp at them.

I called him my “Trumpeteer” because he could make sounds in similar fashion.

He was not above playing sick or injured to get some extra TLC.

He had gall stone surgery when he was 7.

I called him my gold-plated kitty, because that surgery cost over $3000.

I had to feed him through a feed tube, with the help of my former roommate, who often threatened to steal him from me.

He’s the descendant of a kitty, Smokey, that I fed in my aunt and uncle’s back yard, who they decided to keep as an outdoor-pet.

He and Boo consoled Bevin, a late friend’s cat after her loss.  They all slept together in a pile.

He purred when getting his head or cheeks rubbed.

He was the best kitty ever.

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