September 2015


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In Memoriam

Shortly after The EMC and I moved into our first solo apartment after getting hitched, she surprised me with the gift of a little black ball of fluff – an American Longhair cat that we christened Zoe The Monster (because she was fluffy like Sesame Street ‘monsters’ – it made sense to me…). I don’t have any digitized pictures of her from before 2009 – primarily because most of her pictures look like a pair of eyes floating in a puddle of darkness, as seen here in the Xmas 2009 album:


This picture is about the best one I have as far as getting any visual detail is concerned:

What the hell are you doing, human?

You’ll note the fine air of disdain – her specialty.

Well, in any case as you’ve guessed from the title of this post, Mizz Zoe The Monster has departed this mortal coil and now rests with Bast in whatever cats consider their heaven. She was somewhere around 18-20 years old at the time of her passing.

Considering as she’s been such a central aspect of my life for so many years, it seemed fitting that I should keep her around. So, I had her cremated and today I am putting together her memorial urn. As it happens, I had just the thing already on-hand.

Somewhere toward the end of high school I met AH, among whose myriad talents included the care and feeding of a classic muscle cars, Egyptian hieroglyphs and pottery. One of her more impressive pieces was a cat statuette. The cat itself is a standard mold, but she spent a number of hours with a sharp stylus inscribing a section of Egyptian text into the body and tail, and added some fetching ‘earrings’ in the form of some costume gems to the ears. It’s one of the few possessions I’ve managed to retain from those early days. It also happens to be hollow.

Meet Zoe’s new home.

The urn

The cat was just large enough to contain the cremains of Zoe, and I’ve sealed her in with a cork and a fair amount of hot glue. Additionally, I will be gluing the cat to a small wooden plaque to provide additional stability to prevent accidental tipping, and give me a place to tack on a brass nameplate.

While she won’t be my lapcat anymore, I’ll be able to reach over and scritch her ears when I’m missing her.

And yes, I am indeed a mushy old softie. Piss off.

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