Nope, this isn't my all cats roundup. This is a special entry devoted soley to my Bob.
I'm not sure how I found Bob. I already had three cats, so I certainly wasn't looking for another one. I was probably wandering through the mall and decided to window shop in the pet store to look at all the adorable kitties and puppies.
But I know WHY I found Bob. She was so malnourished in that pet store, I'm convinced if I hadn't adopted her, she would have died. As it was, once I got her home, Karen and I had to practically force feed her. We eventually figured out that PART of her problem was that she didn't have a sense of smell; she just couldn't identify food by smell, and she was taken from her mother too early, so she didn't learn any other way.
Even once we got her eating regulary, she stayed small. She used to love to perch on top of the vertical blinds in my kitchen.
She was so scrawny initially that we called her ULF - Ugly Little F***. Then, for awhile, T called her Wembley (after Wembley stadium...we had watched the tribute to Freddie Mercury on MTV shortly after his death and she decided Wembley sounded like a good name for a cat)
But finally we settled on Bob. She was named after Hurricane Bob and Bob the Spider (long story, maybe I'll tell it some other time.)
She was a mischevious little thing. She would sit on the answering machine while no one was home and record her own outgoing message. That eventually led to Karen, Charles and I recording a new outgoing message, complete with simulated Bob-voice saying "Gosh, I wish I had opposable thumbs". Eventually, after she managed to make a nine minute long distance call, we had to move the answering machine to a shelf BELOW her preferred sleep spot.
I didn't have Bob for very long though. I think I adopted her sometime in the spring of 1992 but when Dave and I moved in together, in July of 1994, he made me give up all four of my cats. (Is it any wonder we're divorced now?)
Thank God for my brother - he adopted them all and gave them a good home.
In October 2002, Greg moved back in with our parents following his separation from his wife, bringing Bob (and Stash, his own cat) with him. (By this time, Bob was my only former cat still living.) And then, in March of 2003, I moved in as well.
I was so happy to be living with my Bob again. And she was such a great cat. She was also very protective of my brother. Mom's cat Megan is a major cranky puss, growling and spitting at anyone who came near. On the occasions that she made the mistake of doing that to Greg, Bob, no matter where she was, would HURTLE herself at Megan (who was twice her size), and woe to anyone who got in her way. I think we all ended up with mauled ankles at one point or another.
I was thrilled when Greg finally moved out last February (I'd been sofa surfing in the living room for almost a year and finally I had a room of my own) but I missed Bob. I tried to convince him to leave her with me but he wouldn't.
And now she's gone. My beautful kitty died this weekend.
