Yesterday I let my dear old Every Bob go. He was at least 17 years old. He had terrible arthritis and a neurologic condition. Although he was in constant pain, down to the last, he still purred when I picked him up.
I’ve been with Bob about 15 years and he was a rescue. I found him as an adult during a Texas freeze out in a park in the country. I was out walking in the cold and could hear him crying from very far away. (Bob had a throat yodel on par with the best Tuvan throat singers.) Since no kitty is ever going to freeze on my watch, I followed the noise and found him running towards me through standing water that was partially iced over. It was love at first sight. I took him home and he followed me everywhere like a puppy.
All of my pets have first and last names, I like them to know that I think of them as important people. And usually I have a pet a few days before the name comes to me. I felt like his name was Bob, but one Bob didn’t seem to cover it. Bob Marley? Bob Hope? Robert Redford? Bob Dylan? Bob Barker? Robert DiNiro? Bob Denver? Bobby Kennedy? Bob Newhart? No, no single Bob could cover who this cat was, so he became The Every Bob.
Bob had a strange problem though. As a few weeks went by, he would play a few moments or run a bit, and then pass out. I thought he was narcoleptic and nicknamed him Slow Bob. So off to the vet. After a failed attempt at a horrible country vet, I found a vet in the city who x-rayed Bob and found that he had a huge tear in his diaphragm. His intestines had moved into his chest cavity and, as he was now having regular food with me, the full intestines were decreasing his lung capacity to less than 15%. The good news was he could be rebuilt (stronger, better and faster), the bad news was it would cost well over what I made in two or three month’s time. I didn’t even blink, I’d get by on beans and rice until his vet bills were paid.
Bob went through his surgery well and since that time lived as my constant companion, day and night. He was always curled under my arm when I was sick, sitting in my lap or on the desk near my computer as I was working, walking around the edge of the tub while I showered, and directly under my feet anytime food was involved. When I started my own business, I made him Honorary CEO of Laughing Cat Arts. Scroll to the bottom and there you’ll find Bob! (I know, it’s goofy, but I like to make things fun when I can.) 
Bob wasn’t perfect. He messed up in some bad ways. He was sometimes a bully and sorta naughty, noisy, devious and always too curious for his own good. He once fell in the toilet and banged the lid down on his own head trying to see what went on in there. (This resulted in the house rule that the toilet seat shall remian in the closed position when not being used lest Bob attempt to go drowning again.) But who’s perfect? His 90% good far outweighed his 10% evil, even though his evil was pretty darn evil. The photo to the left is Bob on the counter sticking his head in the grater to eat cheese! He knew full well he was lactose intolerant!!
Dear Bob, I miss you. I miss your soft fur and your yucky fish breath, I miss you sleeping next to me and I miss being able to dance with you around the house. How tolerant you were and what an attention whore you were. You were a king among cats and a constant source of comedy and comfort. You were curious and loving and welcomed everyone you met as a friend. How lucky I was to have found you, Slow Bob, Flying Bob, The Every Bob.
