
I woke up this morning to find our beloved cat, Simon in a sorry state. He has lived here longer than we have, and has certainly led a full life. We moved here almost 12 years ago, and he came with the farm so to speak. The former owners indicated that he was a loner, and that in all of the years they had lived here, he merely stared at them from afar. Never daring to venture close, or allowing them to touch him. Within a week of us buying the house, he was eating on our front porch, and letting us pet him. At the time, I worked for an animal hospital, so as soon as I could, a brought him in to be neutered. We had a few cats in the house all ready, but I intended to domesticate Simon, and make him part of our inside world. He on the other hand wanted no part of an indoor life. So try as I might, he cried, and howled, and let me know that the life of an indoor cat wasn't for him. At the time, I just couldn't imagine why he wouldn't want this pampered life. But he was a feral kitten-I am sure, and an indoor life was completely unnatural for him. So for the last 12 years, I had to be content with feeding him, and being part of his world-outside. He was a beautiful cat in his prime. Big, black glossy coat. Beautiful yellow eyes. He always came when he was called, (if within earshot). And was always gentle with us, allowing us to stroke him, and always near when we worked outside. He had lots of adventures over the years. Sometimes dissappearing for two weeks at a time. Making me sick with worry. Sometimes coming home with wounds. He never complained when I had to take him to the vet. He was a skilled hunter- years ago, we had little bantam chickens, something was killing them at night, and we couldn't figure out what it was. We knew it wasn't a raccoon, or anything large, because the coop was fairly secure. Then one morning we woke up to find that Simon had killed a weasel. The chicken killings stopped. He was the kind of cat that even hardended cat haters couldn't help but like. This last year or so, his health has been on the decline. My beautiful, big black cat, became a mere shadow of himself. We worried that he wouldn't be able to survive another Wisconsin winter. Lately he had been sleeping behind the wheels of our cars. I kept asking him why he was trying to commit suicide. I am sure he knew his time was coming to an end. So this morning when I went out to feed the cats, he was sitting alone in the grass. I called to him, but he didn't come. He just sat there looking confused. I got a can of food and brought it out to him. He tried to walk, and his back legs wouldn't work properly. I burst into tears. I knew right away that it was time. I think that he probably had a stroke sometime in the night, and dragged himself out to where I could find him. I woke up my husband, and told him the sad news. So as I am typing this, Andy is bringing him in to our vet, to be euthanized. My poor boy, I am so sorry that your life is coming to a close. Andy will bring him home, and we will bury him on the farm, that he no doubt was born on so many years ago. At a conservative guess Simon would have been around 17, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was a few years older. I am grateful for all of the years he gave us, and the lessons that he taught me. He will be missed dearly, the farm just won't be the same without him. Rest in Peace, my friend, you are loved, and will be remembered always, you were a legend. -amanda