Leon

Leon was born in May 1990 and we didn’t meet until September of the same year. He was living at the veterinarian’s office and the staff had taken to calling him “wild man”. I couldn’t resist.

One day I came home from work and found him nearly all the way to the ceiling by way of the drapes. When I moved out of that apartment the drapes looked like a cheap version of a planetarium–when it was dark the street light shined through all those little kitty claw spots.

I was once asked if the stripe on his head was natural or not. I think I bit my tongue instead of saying that I’d drawn it on with a MarksAlot. He grew out of the stripe and stopped climbing drapes but he never lost the attitude.

He had lots of bad habits and was perturbed by nearly everyone he met. He couldn’t get enough of me and let me do most anything to him (running through that first apartment and body slamming on the bed was considered big fun). It was years after the better-half and I got married that Leon finally decided the better-half was OK. I think it is safe to say that not many people liked Leon.

Leon died yesterday afternoon and was buried with a massive amount of his favorite treats. So long, old friend.

Soon after we met:

He fell into the tank once. The fish that lived in the tank finally died after very long lives and Leon couldn’t help himself.

He stopped getting into bags at some point, but while a kitten he’d even get into the bag if he had to climb in the trash can.

He loved this green blanket that a friend’s mother knitted for me.

Leon in 2004 with his arch nemesis, Tac, in the background. They weren’t related but somehow I ended up with two white cats. Leon was actually happy (for once) when Tac died–he really didn’t like anyone.