By The Cat Called Bob
I’ve been thinking about my brother Oliver lately. He passed away a while back. He had kidney problems. He was really fine one day, and he crossed the Rainbow Bridge the next.
He spent a lot of time on the back porch because he scratched at the bedroom door all night long. I told him to stop, that we had a great living arrangement in the house. He didn’t care. He did what he did.
He was such a sweet and loving brother. We would often lay in the window together watching whatever was happening outside. He was like me in that he didn’t really want to go outside as much as he just wanted to look outside.
He just went so quickly we didn’t really even have time to say goodbye.
Ollie was a giant lump of a cat. A tuxedo. He wasn’t graceful, but neither am I, so it must run in the family I guess.
I’m not sure how old Ollie was because I’m not sure how old I am. We are the same age. I’m thinking I’m five almost six.
That’s Oliver when we were not even one year old yet. It’s my favorite picture of him. He looks innocent enough like he’s about to take a nap… but odds were he was about to pounce into action. He would spring to his feet and attack anyone passing by him. Often times he would jump on me wrestling me to the ground. He would lick my face and rabbit me with his back feet.
This is Ollie not long before he passed. He was really sick and not feeling well. He’d been to the doctor quite a few times before his death.
I hope I get to see him again when I cross over the Rainbow Bridge. I hope it works that way. I like the other cats here just fine. They are all nice. I try to be nice to them. Sometimes that doesn’t work out and I end up growling at them. I think I’m just misunderstood or something like that. I’m a good cat. I just don’t like being pestered by the others much.
Well, I think I’m going to go lay in the window a bit and look for my bird friends. They might be out today flying around.