bex77

Our beloved mean old Maine coon cat, Sherlock, aged 16, died at 2:05 am this morning, taking one last breath while N. was petting him.

Here's a lovely photo that N. posted of him.
http://audioboy.livejournal.com/276553.html

It started in the Spring of 2004 when my boss took in an orphan Maine coon cat he called Bruiser. N. fell in love with his face, his regal bearing, and the stories of their traits. He scoured the local shelters and Petfinder.com looking for a similar cat. He finally found one in Beacon, NY, a three hour drive from Boston. He emailed the Mid-Hudson Animal Aid Shelter http://www.midhudsonanimalaid.org/ and arranged to meet Sherlock, a 10 year old cat who'd been born in the shelter, adopted out, then repatriated when his owner moved away and could not take him with her. He'd been back in the shelter for 18 months.

We drove over to meet Sherlock, and encountered a magical place - a big old house with a great room filled with more than 100 cats! I sat on the floor and let a dozen of them crawl on me, petting and smiling like a loon for a long time. Sherlock sat on a high scratching post, displaying his furry tail, supervising the entire affair and bonding with Neil. We paid our donation, crated up the old guy and headed off to Boston. We had steeled ourselves for three hours of howling and bad smells, but he sat calmly in the carrier for three hours, with no "accidents" or complaints.

We had thought a cat who had lived with over 100 other cats would easily get along with our gorgeous lady cat, Vanna. Per conventional wisdom, we kept him in our bathroom for a couple of days then began slowly introducing him to her. He hated her. We tried everything to acclimate them, but his mission in life was to kill her. We consulted experts and scoured the internet. No go. So we separated them. Vanna lived in our bedroom, and finally gave up the place to him in October 2008.

Sherlock's teeth were in bad shape when we got him. He was a regular visitor with Dr. Parker at the Porter Square Vet Clinic in Davis Square. He lost four right away, and then the rest a year later. But it didn't slow him down in the eating department. He did get rather indignant when the birds on the balcony mocked him (they were mocking birds, after all) and at the people who petted him too long who were not dissuaded by his attempts to gum them. But he still had his claws and was not afraid to use them.

Sherlock ruled the place and us. He was the smartest being I have ever been around, man or beast. He knew how to get what he wanted, which was mostly tuna. He was happiest sleeping on N. while he napped in his recliner. He loved to "help" N. or me as we sat at our computers, sprawled across the desk in front of the keyboard, head on the warmth of the processor. He adored strolling in the hallway of our condo building, accepting accolades from neighbors on the beauty of his poofy tail and frightening the dogs.

In our experience, there are two types of cats - kissers and boofers. Sherlock was an avid boofer. He loved to pummel us with his head. He loved nothing more than a scritch along the side of his mouth or an extended brushing to deal with his long fur. He preferred drinking out of the WaterPic on the bathroom sink, or the fresh water in N. or my glass. He did not allow N. to make a sandwich or drink a glass of milk on his own.

Sherlock also loved to use the computer. Facebook was his forum. He convinced N. to upload many photos. He collected "likes" and comments, and planned events with the minions of other cats, often indulging on FB chat while we were out at meetings. He is famous for the 1,250 emails he opened on my computer while trying to get help when he threw up and then spilled water on my desk trying to clean it up while I was at work.

In typical cat fashion, he stopped eating when he felt ill. He had a bad spell in April, but rallied with the help of bowl of watered down tuna. But there was no rally this time, even though N. and I were with him around the clock during this vacation week. He quietly waited under the hall table for his end. N. and I focused on him, despite my dad being in hospice, my surgery and N. having a very bad cold. He held on through my surgery Tuesday, and then through Christmas on Saturday, but his struggle ended in the early hours of Boxing Day. N. curled him into his favorite place - a box with his well-worn catnip sock - for his final journey.

If you're so inclined, contribute to the Mid-Hudson Animal Aid Shelter http://www.midhudsonanimalaid.org/, Saint Meows of Somerville, MA http://www.saintmeows.com/ or the animal shelter of your choice.

RIP Sherlock.