Recalling Tater, the Coolest Cat

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Let me tell you about Tater, the coolest, chillest cat I have ever known.

When full-grown, Tater weighed more than 16 pounds. His belly nearly dragged the floor. He was orange and white, a Texas Longhorn cat who loved to talk. He didn’t simply meow but chirped at his human companions. Tater would lie on an ottoman or chair, enjoying the morning sun. When someone walked by, he would raise his head slightly and go: Row, Row, Row! (rhyming with wow, not mow). It is a bit hard to duplicate in words, so that is the best I can do.

Nothing fazed Tater. He took the arrivals and departures of other critters in stride, happily hung out with humans watching television, ignored me when I tried to shoo him off the dining room table. When the pups were given the beaters to lick after making a bowl of mashed potatoes, Tater would sidle up to either Mollie or Gatsby and take a few licks himself.

We learned early on to hide bread or anything in a soft plastic package in the pantry – and to be sure to shut its door. He would tear into the package to grab some bites. Other than having a strong attraction to carbs, Tater was a well-behaved cat. When Olive arrived, a tiny stray kitten daughter Abbie rescued from beneath the dumpster at Olive Garden after we ate dinner there (hence her name), Tater immediately took a shine to her. He was more than twice as big as Olive was, even when she reached maturity, but they curled up together almost every day to nap and groom each other.

One of his favorite spots was stretching out on my Beautiful Mystery Companion’s keyboard as she futilely tried to work. She happily let him do so even if it meant stopping what she was doing and stroking his fur.

In his youthfulyears, when we lived in town, Tater killed baby squirrels and dropped their bodies at the back door. He did not bother the birds, unlike his brother Tot. Sadly, Tot disappeared three years ago. We cling to the faint hope he took up residence elsewhere and was not killed by a predator.

Once we moved to Three Geese Farm, Tater lost interest in hunting. He was only allowed outside for short periods, and only when we were home. The squirrels stay out of the fenced part of our property, and Tater ignores the birds. Despite our entreaties, when let outside Tater invariably climbed the backyard chain-link fence. That was a sight to behold, his belly jiggling, rear end up in the air, as he hauled his front half over the fence, then sort of tumbled down outside the fence. One of us would head down the hill toward the shop to retrieve him and lug him back inside. He rarely tried to elude us, usually rolling over on his back and going Row! Row! Carrying him back inside resembled a CrossFit workout.

 

By now, you likely know where I am going with this story. We never saw this coming. Tater was a very healthy cat, the only concern from our veterinarian being his extra poundage. About a month ago, Tater largely stopped eating. Since food was his favorite pastime, besides finding a lap on which to purr, we became concerned. At first, we tried changing his food, since cats can become finicky for no discernible reason. Finally, we took him to the vet.

I will leave out the details. Suffice it to say, we dearly love all our critters and pulled out all stops to try to save Tater. At last, we had to let him go last Sunday morning. It was time to end his suffering. Tater was 8 ½ years old when he passed. Far too young, in my view.

Losing a beloved pet never gets easier. As I have written before, that will not stop me from having critters. The pain is part of it, but it is tough to bear. I am grateful to have known this cool, chill cat, who slept many nights at the foot of the bed, not stirring until I got up.

So long, buddy.

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