Finnegan
A week has passed since I last saw my friend Finnegan the cat. Like our dog Duncan, he followed me around and even came on long walks with me. Sometimes I would pick him up and carry him for awhile, not because he was tired out, he just felt good in my arms. Since we had a wee snowfall a little while ago, I've noticed a lot of coyote tracks, I guess they're hoping to get their chops on our chickens but so far, thanks to the dog I expect, they haven't come near the chicken coop. Although Finnegan was a great hunter, mice and squirrels being part of his diet, since he was an outdoor cat and bedded down in the garage or barn, I expect the hunter became the hunted; Finnegan most likely ending up as some other predator's dinner in the forest. I would sometimes meow to him and we would have these great conversations in cat language; it's odd, he certainly seemed to understand a few English words but I never new one cat word, at least what it meant. I've never been a great cat-lover, especially the domesticated, pampered type cat-lover; I've always preferred the outdoor variety. There was nothing particularly different about Finnegan as far as cats go and as much as he could be a voracious killer of small animals and birds, he was always friendly and looked forward to being petted and cuddled.
Over the years, cats have often been a part of my life, whether I wanted one or not. One of the most unusual cats I had lived in my sign shop to keep the mouse population under control. He was a mottled grey colour and reminded me of smoke, so I named him Smokey. I'm not sure how, but I suspect one of the people I had working for me at the time, dropped a 4'x8' sheet of plywood on his tail because one day, I noticed that his tail had an unusual bend and as time went by, the end of his tail broke off, so he only had a short stub. I don't know how it began but we began playing hide and seek with one another. We would take turns hiding and looking for each other and I have to admit, we were pretty comical. I remember one afternoon, I decided to play a bit of a prank on Smokey and hid under a sheet of plywood that was leaning on the wall just around the corner of the shop. I can still see old Smoke as he warily crept along looking to his left and his right as he came towards me. And then, when he already reached where I was hiding, I jumped out and yelled boo as loud as I could. I never saw a cat leap so high into the air and run so fast, but what was truly amazing, Smokey left a trail of yellow piss the length of the shop and out the window. We were good pals until one day, a boy came into the shop and told me a cat was lying dead by the side of the street up at the corner. When I asked how he knew it was my cat, he told me about his stubby tail and sure enough, it was old Smoke; he'd been hit by a car and killed.
I don't know if Finnegan has used up his nine lives but in case he has, all I can say is, R.I.P. Finnegan - cheers, eh!
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