All Nine Lives

A cat is considered geriatric at 12. Two Sox was eighteen when he finally passed away last week. I've seen those bumper stickers that say "Animals are People Too." Given, these bumper stickers are typically pasted on the backsides of cars that also have tatty sun bleached stuffed animals in the back window and woman wearing stretch pants and a chocolate frosting stained Garfield "I Hate Mondays" t-shirt wedged into the driver's seat. But I digress. Animals are people too, that is my point.

As strange as it may sound, I believe that. Anyone who's had a pet knows that pets have personality. And where there is personality, there are also personality quirks. Two Sox certainly had his share.

The Ambush: Two Sox simply knew, without question, that he was lord and master of our house growing up. Our insistence on introducing unworthy companions into his realm proved to be someone disconcerting to him, though he deigned to allow himself to play amusing games with his unworthy wards. One of these was "The Ambush." Two Sox often preferred to take his leisure on the dining room table. This locale had the added benefit of allowing him to observe the approach of his dim-witted canine co residents, who on occasion (being of course, far less intelligent than himself) would amuse themselves by doing laps around the table. This behavior, of course, providing Two Sox the opportunity to wait until said dog came racing around and perform a graceful leap onto their passing back. Typically this elicited a reaction rather similar to having lit the dog's ass on fire. Which, of course, would have been infinitely more satisfying, but it is rather hard to strike a match without the operation of an opposable thumb.

The Ambush 2: Being the well rounded and open minded individual that he was, Two Sox was not so shallow as to limit himself to hunting from the dining room table. Indeed, he wisely took advantage of seasonal opportunities as well. One method of doing this was to conceal himself amongst the foliage at the bottom of the Christmas tree. Hidden in the shadows afforded by the lower branches, Two Sox would then lay in wait for a passing dog, or foot, and erupt from his concealment in a gray streak of feline claws, teeth, and fury. Being also benevolent, as well as skilled, he typically allowed his quarry to escape after minor scratches an abrasions, such was his self control.

The Ambush 3: As was becoming a gentleman who knows the importance fealty, Two Sox allowed his lessers to display their gratitude for his presence with the occasional pet on the head, chin, or throat. In the case that said lessers became overzealous in their adorations, he was prepared to remind them of their station and permissions. On one such occasion, one subject by the name of Steve dared to pat his hind quarters. After a stern warning of tail flicking and pupil dialating glares, Two Sox, with his keen powers of observation, determined that his lesson had not been taken to heart. In a powerful and terrible gesture, he launched himself at Steve's arm and into Steve's cereal bowl, soiling Steve's trousers with both milk and shame.

The Refined Palate: An epicure of the highest order, Two Sox did not limit himself to canned cat food sup or dried pellets for sustenance. Indeed no. He was a cat who enjoyed something sweet to tempt the palate. Some of his favorites included a nibble of strawberry Pop-Tarts, Twizzlers, or the very occasional marshmallow. Such was the refinement of his tongue, that he preferred to take only one bite from each marshmallow, knowing of course (as all experts do) that after one bite has been taken, the flavor and texture of said marshmallow has been hopelessly compromised and must then be discarded in whatever manner one sees fit. Which is exactly what he did do, all across the living room carpet, where his minions would collect them and dispose of them, as is their station.

The Chatter: As a scholar of military stratagems, Two Sox was infinitely aware of the philosophy that one should keep one's friends close, but enemies closer. In order to do so, Two Sox developed a system of speaking in short mews and chatters (modified from his celebrated moth hunting techniques) that could be easily understood by those in his jurisdiction. Hearing his vocal chatter, the humans would then respond with gushy coos and greetings, instantly alerting him to their location within the domicile. Ingenious.


The Games: As I mentioned before, Two Sox was a great hunter, a strategist. Such skills, like claws, must be kept sharp, honed, and ready to kill. But how does one hone such skills when entrapped with lesser beings? Simple. War games. Through a series of subliminal prompts, Two Sox taught his subjects to help him hone these skills by pitching him ice cubes from the freezer. Upon hearing the freezer door open, Two Sox stealthily maneuvered himself into the sink, only his eyes above the rim, waiting for his practice quarry. Seeing him hunkered down, the subject would then toss the bit of ice slightly above his head, affording him the opportunity to spring into action, swatting his target with deadly accuracy. Through such preparations, he could be assured that when the time came, he would be ready and able to kill. Sudden death, served chilled.

The aliases: Wisely, an assassin of Two Sox's order had many aliases in order to keep his true identity a secret. Some of these included: Toxy, Soxy, Mr. Kitty, Mr. Sprinkles, Puddles, Soxo, and Keeton. It is believed that he survived as long as he did through the operation of his closely kept identity. A cat of mystery, to the very end.

We will miss you Soxy.

Cyndi