kuhio98
01-03-2004, 03:57 PM
I found this tribute on the www.petloss.com website. I did not have the privledge of knowing Oberon. I sure wish I could write this well.
Obie, 03/05/94-04/08/03
The following is both an expression of grief and celebration of the life of one Oberon Antares, King of the Fairies, Cat Without Peer Among His Contemporaries, who, in acknowledgement of his humble nature, and in deference to his inability to comprehend words having more than two syllables, was known throughout the nine years of his life and of our togetherness simply as Obie.
Being a cat of Very Little Brain, our protagonist was compelled to identify those few things in life which were Most Important, and then to devote himself entirely to the pursuit of same, lest a few minutes pass and cause him to forget them all. Possessed of a lusty appetite, Obie was skilled in the arts and sciences of Tasty Treat Procurement -- in particular, his mastery of the Pudding Bowl Head-Butt, the Iced Tea Paw-Dip, and the Tuna!-Tuna!-Tuna!-Tuna!- Ankle-Circling Maneuver were unparalleled. Despite his lack of formal education and his frequently demonstrated inability to retain information, Obie did teach himself how to read a clock, or so it seemed; he was eerily adept at rousing his daddy exactly 30 minutes before the alarm was set to go off, thereby guaranteeing himself a leisurely breakfast in the company of his Favorite Human, complete with post-prandial petting, rather than the rushed, on-the-way-out-the-door handful of kibble that so many other (supposedly more intelligent) cats are willing to accept.
His affable temperament endeared him to all, even those slightly addled folk who claimed not to like cats-in-general. In his prime, he weighed 14 pounds and most strongly resembled a D'Anjou pear (which he would certainly also be willing to sample, if by chance you happened to have an extra one handy). His prodigious expanse of belly made sleeping on his back The Preferred Way, and he could frequently be found flat on his back, wedged up against his Favorite Human (also flat on his back), and snoring in harmony with him. His favorite exercise was None At All, closely followed by Having A Roll Across This Catnip as well as Watching The Cat Dancer From a Reasonable Distance. On those occasions when he could be compelled to swat at the Cat Dancer, his ultimate goal was always to secure it with a claw and then to quickly subdue it by Laying Down With a Squish, trapping it beneath his belly. His love for his Humans was deep and abiding, aided, no doubt, by his inability to remember anything but that they were There with him and that this was Good.
When he suddenly became less dense, then svelte, and finally slim, it became clear that all was not well. A diagnosis of kidney disease was followed shortly thereafter by an additional diagnosis of diabetes, with many complications. Obie tolerated the efforts of his Humans to make him well, despite the fact that these efforts involved not only daily needle sticks, but also Different Food. As always, he had the shortest possible memory for the many traumas inflicted by his Humans, and relentlessly maintained Utter Devotion as his top priority. After three months of treatment, however, his condition continued to deteriorate. His diseases weakened him until all he could be was tired. Our own Utter Devotion drove us at first to do whatever we could to keep our boy with us, and then to realize that he needed us to love him even more than that.
Last week, our vet came to our house to help us let Obie go. He died in familiar surroundings and with the Humans that he adored and who adored him. He was given an anesthetic that allowed him to slowly and gently fall asleep before the final injection was given. His last awareness was of his Humans holding him, petting him, and whispering words of Utter Devotion to their small black sweetest boy.
Our overwhelming sorrow at the loss of our boy is softened by my unwavering belief that last night, a big beautiful Egyptian cat goddess picked Obie up in her mouth by the scruff of his neck and gently took her newest kitten away with her. By now, she'll have presented him with a bottomless bowl of tuna, an endless patch of catnip, and an eternally warm and available lap in which to curl up until such time as his Humans come to retrieve him. We love you, Obie.
Amy Milligan and Mike Swanberg
Obie, 03/05/94-04/08/03
The following is both an expression of grief and celebration of the life of one Oberon Antares, King of the Fairies, Cat Without Peer Among His Contemporaries, who, in acknowledgement of his humble nature, and in deference to his inability to comprehend words having more than two syllables, was known throughout the nine years of his life and of our togetherness simply as Obie.
Being a cat of Very Little Brain, our protagonist was compelled to identify those few things in life which were Most Important, and then to devote himself entirely to the pursuit of same, lest a few minutes pass and cause him to forget them all. Possessed of a lusty appetite, Obie was skilled in the arts and sciences of Tasty Treat Procurement -- in particular, his mastery of the Pudding Bowl Head-Butt, the Iced Tea Paw-Dip, and the Tuna!-Tuna!-Tuna!-Tuna!- Ankle-Circling Maneuver were unparalleled. Despite his lack of formal education and his frequently demonstrated inability to retain information, Obie did teach himself how to read a clock, or so it seemed; he was eerily adept at rousing his daddy exactly 30 minutes before the alarm was set to go off, thereby guaranteeing himself a leisurely breakfast in the company of his Favorite Human, complete with post-prandial petting, rather than the rushed, on-the-way-out-the-door handful of kibble that so many other (supposedly more intelligent) cats are willing to accept.
His affable temperament endeared him to all, even those slightly addled folk who claimed not to like cats-in-general. In his prime, he weighed 14 pounds and most strongly resembled a D'Anjou pear (which he would certainly also be willing to sample, if by chance you happened to have an extra one handy). His prodigious expanse of belly made sleeping on his back The Preferred Way, and he could frequently be found flat on his back, wedged up against his Favorite Human (also flat on his back), and snoring in harmony with him. His favorite exercise was None At All, closely followed by Having A Roll Across This Catnip as well as Watching The Cat Dancer From a Reasonable Distance. On those occasions when he could be compelled to swat at the Cat Dancer, his ultimate goal was always to secure it with a claw and then to quickly subdue it by Laying Down With a Squish, trapping it beneath his belly. His love for his Humans was deep and abiding, aided, no doubt, by his inability to remember anything but that they were There with him and that this was Good.
When he suddenly became less dense, then svelte, and finally slim, it became clear that all was not well. A diagnosis of kidney disease was followed shortly thereafter by an additional diagnosis of diabetes, with many complications. Obie tolerated the efforts of his Humans to make him well, despite the fact that these efforts involved not only daily needle sticks, but also Different Food. As always, he had the shortest possible memory for the many traumas inflicted by his Humans, and relentlessly maintained Utter Devotion as his top priority. After three months of treatment, however, his condition continued to deteriorate. His diseases weakened him until all he could be was tired. Our own Utter Devotion drove us at first to do whatever we could to keep our boy with us, and then to realize that he needed us to love him even more than that.
Last week, our vet came to our house to help us let Obie go. He died in familiar surroundings and with the Humans that he adored and who adored him. He was given an anesthetic that allowed him to slowly and gently fall asleep before the final injection was given. His last awareness was of his Humans holding him, petting him, and whispering words of Utter Devotion to their small black sweetest boy.
Our overwhelming sorrow at the loss of our boy is softened by my unwavering belief that last night, a big beautiful Egyptian cat goddess picked Obie up in her mouth by the scruff of his neck and gently took her newest kitten away with her. By now, she'll have presented him with a bottomless bowl of tuna, an endless patch of catnip, and an eternally warm and available lap in which to curl up until such time as his Humans come to retrieve him. We love you, Obie.
Amy Milligan and Mike Swanberg