RIP

Tonight, I should tell you about Molson. Molson was Drew's cat. He got her when he was in his early 20s, living in a house with a bunch of other guys. You can describe those years this way "there was a turtle pool in the sun room and a weekly bus trip to bars in Kingston". That's why the cat's name was Molson.

Molson was about 9 or so when Drew adopted her from the pound (all of our animals have been rescue animals). Drew decided he wanted a cat, went to the Quinte Humane Society and asked for the cat that had been there the longest. He was introduced to Molson, who had been there just over 3 years. She came home with him that night, and they became inseparable. She slept between his ankles every night from that one to the evening she passed away, 10 years later.

Molson was a holy terror. When Drew and I moved in together, she chased my two cats behind the fridge, even though she was significantly older than them. She ruled the roost, and they knew it. In fact, she would even growl at me if I was sitting in her chair. Of course, I just didn't listen. Molson's favourite things to do were to lie, prostrate, in the sun in the summer or to sleep on the warm slate floor, about 6 inches from the wood stove in the winter, as above. But don't be lulled into complacency by her looks....she was evil. The only living being that she loved was Drew, and she loved him very very much.

One night just over a year ago, Drew and I were almost asleep when I heard a commotion in the kitchen. I got out of bed to see her having a grand mal seisure on the floor. Though we raced her to the hospital, there was nothing we could do. Molson is buried in one of the sunniest patches of the earliest thawing gardens on the northern border of our property. We both miss her. Her grumpiness was endearing and she'll always have a big part of our hearts.