Memories of Monkeyface

When I think of my first cat, Monkeyface, I smile. The way he followed into the office every day to help me to write; the way he would sit on the arm of my chair when I was watching TV; the way he would insist on sharing my pillow at night.

They say that male Maine Coons are clowns. That was certainly true with Monk. He would roll around on the floor, completely enjoying being a cat. He loved grocery bags and shoe boxes. The first I saw him in a shoe box, I could not help but laugh. Here was this 20+ pound cat squished up in this tiny box. Now, I ask you, what would you do?

Being a Maine Coon, he loved the snow. He would run out in that cold, white stuff and absolutely have a blast! Eating it, rolling in it, and running around as fast as he could (which was not very fast, after all, he was 20+ pounds).

Then came the day that my Monkeyface and I parted ways. He was very sick. I knew that the humane, the right thing was to let him go to a peaceful place where there was no pain, where he was free to run in the snow all day long again. On the way to the vet, I sang his favorite song to him and he looked at me adoringly for the last time.

Sometimes, when I sit quietly, I can I hear his trill in the other room; see a flash of him running around the corner. I love the memories of my Monkey, and I was sad when he had to go.

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