Hello friends - I realize this is extravagantly long, so don't feel obligated to read it - it's really for my family. But I tagged you because you may remember Smokey, and all I ask is if you have any memories of him, leave them here. Yes, this is extremely silly and cheesy. But truth be told, I just really didn't understand how much I would miss Smokey once he was gone, and I want to remember him in every way I can. And Smokey loved you. Feel free to untag when you're done... :)
Smokey "Shadow" Tollerson came into my family's lives in the very early stages of my memory. My neighbor asked me if I would like a "cookie." I said yes. She told me to go ask my dad. I asked him, and he said, "A cookie? Sure, why not? I don't care." So I went back to my neighbor and told her that my dad said I could have a cookie. My neighbor looked at me and laughed and said, "A kitten, not a cookie!"
I suspect that I had to beg a little bit more for the kitten than the cookie, but that part of the story has long since faded. All I know is that I took in the bundle of joy with as much love as my five-year-old heart could hold. Smokey, without a doubt, was *my* cat.
Unfortunately, he didn't behave like a bundle of joy towards my mother. My neighbor found the kitten in a box on her back porch, and my dad still swears Smokey spent the beginning of his life with a dog. So when Smokey would sit on the stairs, and my mom innocently wanted to pass, he was stand his ground, growling and twitching his tail, scaring my poor mother to death. Somehow, I don't remember any of this aggressive behavior. I remember teaching Smokey how to "hug" - placing his arms on both sides of my neck, nuzzling his head to my shoulder - a practice we continued until the end. I remember him fearlessly head-butting my bedroom door for entry for a late night snuggle. And I remember his brilliantly loud, happy purr.
The years went by, during which I apparently tamed him mellow, according to my parents. He stopped threatening attacks on Mom and took nicely to other cats that we adopted. Unfortunately, he always let out all of his pent-up anger on trips to the vet. We soon learned the only way to make Smokey cooperate: drug him in the morning before his appointment, and trap the heavily sedated cat in an old pillow case that he would poke holes in with his fighting claws. Even under heavy medication Smokes was fiercely scary, even to the professionals trained to handle him. Smokey was still a damn good street cat at heart.
And he loved to talk. Smokey always let you know he was around by greeting you with a loud meow when you walked into the room or petted him to wake him up. It's like he was always trying to say "hi." As a young cat he loved water, and we'd often finding him sleeping in the bathtub or sink. He seemed to be able to figure out how to open any door from the inside or out, and I swear that he's the cause for my faulty bedroom door at home that no longer hinges shut.
These are all somewhat quirky traits, but if you've ever met Smokey the one thing you'll never forget is the DROOL. Since Smokey was a kitten he always had a drooling problem, and it only intensified over the years. It would slowly form around his mouth and gather in one big drip hanging from his chin... at which point you'd notice and try to stop him from shaking his head, making the drool land all over you. (I had several more failures than successes at this practice.) And since he was such an affectionate cat, he just LOVED to rub his head (drool) all over you're hair, shirt, face - he'd take any loving he could get.
Because of this little drooling issue, the rest of my family tended to steer clear of the Smokemeister, but there was no stopping me. Smokey really was my cat, and he let his loyalty and trust for me be known. In the last few years I used to bench press him (yes, bench press) with both my hands and my feet. I haven't met many cats complacent enough to allow something like this to happen, but Smokey was pretty much always ready for what I wanted to do. He would purr and be held for as long as I could ever possibly stand to hold him, wrapping his paws around me in the hug we had felt since we were both babies.
In the end of his life Smokey continued his loving behavior, but began to reveal his old age. In addition to drooling, he seemed to really enjoy sneezing (BIG sneezes), so eventually Smokey was only an outdoor cat. Always a homebody, he spent his last few months on the bench and railing of our front porch, greeting us with meows as we came and left, drool and sneeze covering his precious 17-year-old face.
When my parents called me in Boston before Thanksgiving break to tell me that they hadn't seen Smokey in a few days, I wasn't really worried. For some naive reason, I just didn't think that he could really be gone. But a few more days passed with no sign of him, so my parents searched the neighborhood. No Smokey. But it wasn't until I came home for the holidays and didn't see him sitting on the front porch that it really me - Smokey had finally gone away to die.
I didn't really know how losing Smokey would affect me, but it definitely wasn't as easy as I thought it might be. The reality of my old cat not being at home for the first time in my life was definitely something to get used to. He really was a family member; it's crazy to say, but Smokey and I grew up together. He knew me longer than most (if not all) of my friends. Since we never got to have any sort of official goodbye, I thought he deserved for me to write down his story to remember him by. So here we are.
Every time he sneezed I believed it was love. Rest in Peace, Smokey bear.
