My little Einstein:
He was such a smart little man, so much brighter than any other cat I've ever been around. SO much smarter
than his brother (my roomate's cat, Tiger...not that I don't love you Tiger baby, but you're more handome than you are intelligent,
even your mommy says so...but you are cute.). He figured out how to open the screen on the porch so he could go on adventures
to the Thai restaurant whose kitchen is in our basement (I was terrified he'd end up as Chef's Surprise!).
When we played with the laser pointer, Tiger would chase the light and Mishie would look at the pointer. When he was
a kitten, he used to play FETCH! We could throw his toys down the hallway and he would trot them back to us over and
over again (he eventually became 'too cool' for this though).
Bad Mishie, Bad Mishie...
I really believe he thought he was human! I KNOW he thought that the world revolved around him (and,
honestly, it did). He was spoiled, deservedly so. He would wake me up in the middle of the night...RELENTLESSLY.
If meowing didn't work, he would bite the covers, then push papers off the desk in my bedroom, then pull the papers off the
bulletin board, then pull the tacks out of the cork and let them hit the ground, THEN bite the keys off the computer keyboard,
then if we closed him out of the bedroom he would throw his little body against the door over and over again until he got
the door open, then start it all over again. (you get the point...persistent little bugger). He drove his daddy
CRAZY, and he encouraged his little brother, Tiger, to be his partner in crime. (We used to sing 'bad Mishie, bad Mishie,
what'cha gonna do' like the theme song to COPS!). He was obsessed with the pigeons on our fire escape...we used
to joke that someday we'd get him a pigeon of his own...he could sit with his nose against the glass for hours.
He was SO beautiful! He had his handsome model poses...like in the movie Zoolander ('Magnum!')...he
knew how cute he was, we used to say if only he'd model professionally we could retire and let him do the working. Look
at his pictures, isn't he a HAM?! OK, so he's a little overweight...but really, who needs those anorexic cat food models
anyways? I want a baby I can cuddle with. He was an excellent cuddler. Mornings were 'Mommy and Mishie'
time...Daddy knew not to interrupt us, in fact it was a household rule that if there was a Mishie on your lap you didn't have
to get off the couch for ANYTHING (Daddy would bring us dinner, coffee, ice cream...anything we wanted...Yay Mishie!).
During the week, I would sit on the sofa to have my coffee, and Mish would crawl right up on my lap to purr and nap.
I was often late for work because I didn't want to wake him. On the weekend...he would crawl right up next to me (AFTER
he was fed, of course, first things first...), putting his paw on my hand and his face right up close to mine.
Everybody loved Mishie...how could they not?! He was his Daddy's boy, and his Grandma's little 'midget'...and
even his other Grandma, allergic to cats, couldn' t help but cuddle with him. He had a way of converting everyone into
a cat lover. This house is empty without him...it was MISHIE'S world, and we were just lucky to be a part of it.
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