Life is perilous and short. Buzz, one of our household's three pets, passed away this morning from liver failure. He died without a sound in his mom Riggin's room.
Earlier, when he came in to the kitchen, he seemed a little wobbly as if his legs wouldn't cooperate with the direction he was heading. But otherwise, he didn't seem that sick. But Scout and Walt came over to him and just stood there looking down at him with concern . . . like they were visiting a friend in the hospital.
This dear, feisty, orange tabby was a cat to remember. The spirit of a lion? I might argue he was a lion. He was an attack cat of the first order and loved to wrap his paws around his mom's forearm and pretend to bite. Well, sometimes he did bite, but not very often.
He came to us in March a few years ago from a cat adoption person. I don't know what year -- 2004? It's hard to remember because once you get to know Buzz he's there forever right beside you. He liked to perch on the back of my chair so he looked like a big fuzzy hat with one leg hanging down around my ear.
Buzz was a jungle cat in a domestic kitty's body. Scout will miss him crouched on the brick wall at the end of the path. Buzz would wait for the right moment, then leap on Scout's back, totally freaking him out.
We wish Buzz all the jungle he ever wanted forever and ever. And lots of little dogs (or gazelles or zebras) to pounce on . . .