Fäet the Cat (Kid Stuff)

Some 15 years ago, a wee little kitten weaseled its way into our home.  Much against my better judgement, Jamie insisted that we "needed" a cat and by one of life's most amazing coincidences, it just so happened that Jamie's sister Dana was more than happy to oblige the request.  Dana had adopted a stray cat named Momma and as the name implies, Momma had a litter.  

Jamie was thrilled to go and pick out a kitten.  She picked out the runt.  A small female that she named Ashley because the kitty's fur was an ashen gray.  Ashley may have been small but she immediately let it be known that the house belonged to her and soon upon her arrival a power struggle ensued for command of our home.  I knew the war was lost when my only retort to a swipe of her claws was summoned from my Swedish heritage, liten fäet - little beast!  Yes, I think it's fair to say that there was a mutual dislike between Ashley and me.

Sadly, the time came for Ashley to be spayed.  Momma had taught us that lesson.  Much to our surprise the veterinarian called that afternoon to say that he couldn't perform the operation on Ashley.  Turned out that she was a he.  "Would you like me to proceed and neuter the cat instead?" 

Well, I'm pretty sure that the cat's experience at the vets did nothing to ingratiate me to it.  But another problem presented itself as soon as the cat came home to recuperate.  "Ashley" no longer seemed to be an appropriate fit.  No....not Ashley but we all agreed that Fäet would be perfect.

Over time the cold war between me and Fäet began to thaw.  He habitually hopped up on my desk while I worked and after getting my attention by strutting on the computer keyboard he would step down onto my lap, curl up, and sleep.  Affection?  Maybe.  But I always suspected that Fäet's real motive was to make Rascal, who was curled up at my feet, envious. 

Link:  Rascal (God Moments)

Fäet was all cat right down to the nine lives.  Twice, as a kitten, he fell from the balcony bannister to the floor below - some 13 feet.  Once he was attacked by an owl.  The nasty gash on his hind quarters left testimony to the talons and his narrow escape.  Another time, while entertaining our house quests by clowning about a lit candle on the table, he managed to catch himself on fire.  Bolting out of the living room with the scent of burning fur trailing he raced to our bedroom to seek refuge under our bed.  With visions of our house going up in flames, I raced after, got down on my haunches, and peering under found him nonchalantly licking himself as if nothing had happened.  Fäet kept his other four close encounters to himself.

Time and shared experiences began to bind us.  Whenever Jamie and I packed for a trip, Fäet was right there supervising.  I'd like to think that he wanted to tag along because he always greeted us at the front door whenever we returned and stayed underfoot for a day or two after.

Over time the nap sessions on my lap became commonplace.  I often invited him to watch the Seahawk's game with me and he would indulge me until I started yelling at the screen, at which time he'd retreat to his bed.

In the end, Fäet ran out of lives.  No, he didn't go out in a ball of flames although that might have been more in character.  It grieves me to report that his ninth life was ended by simple old age at the hands of the Vet who had "fixed" him so many years before.  Indeed, Fäet the cat died peacefully.

Yes, I think it's fair to say that Fäet managed to weasel his way into my heart.  I miss him.  I miss him a lot.