Eliot, the Cat

Three years ago, one week to the day before my grandfather passed away, my Russian Blue cat, Eliot, died of liver and kidney failure. We're not sure what happened with him. The vet said he had fatty liver disease, something that attacks over-weight cats when they stop eating for whatever reason. My question all along was "why did he stop eating to begin with?" Clearly there was something other than that wrong with him. The vet never satisfactorily answered that question, and now we have a new vet.

Oliver, my orange tabby with a swirly side (his stripes don't go down his side, but instead swirl into a bulls-eye), loved being the only cat for a few weeks, and then he started getting a little depressed, and started sleeping all the time. One evening, David and the girls were gone and I was sitting in the living room sewing when Oliver burst through the cat door that goes to the screened in porch and meowed at me like his life depended on my response, then he bolted out the door again. I thought to myself, "that was strange, but it's nice to see him up and around again." Then he burst through the door again and meowed and then ran out one more time. I laughed at his unorthodox behavior and continued sewing.

More quickly this time, Oliver ran back in, came over to my chair and meowed and meowed at me. I finally "got it" that he wanted me to go outside, so I did, and sitting outside our screened in porch door was a grey long-hair scraggly looking cat who looked at me and meowed--in exactly the same voice as our recently departed Eliot.

Oliver looked at me as if to say "see...he's back and you didn't listen to me when I told you that he was out here THREE times! Now, go get him so I can fight with him again." I went out the door and sat on the ground and this strange cat eventually came over to me and let me pet him, but when I stood up he ran off. He showed back up the next afternoon, so I could show him to David who thought it was really funny that a gray cat who meows just like our old cat would show up just weeks after that one died. We named him Eliot, though we hardly ever got to pet him.

Then one day Eliot was gone and I figured he had gone the way of most stray cats and perished under a car or in the jaws of a dog. But about a month later he showed up again, with a healing gash on his side--not dead but clearly having gone through a pretty serious ordeal. And also clear was the fact that someone was taking care of him even though he hung out in our yard almost all day and night. Last summer he brought a new kitten around and they played in our yard all the time. This summer he's sporting a new red collar.

Eliot still hangs out and torments our indoor kitties. Here is a picture of him sleeping on the wall that goes along our alley-way. I still don't get to pet him very much, but for whatever reason he just loves hanging out in our yard despite the fact that we've never fed him and clearly someone else does!