Attack Tabbies: a tribute

I was playing jungle kitty in the tall grass yesterday, when I met a new face in the neighborhood: a very elegant medium-furred brown tabby with a long nose and very nice green eyes. She was hangin' out under a honeysuckle, and I thought I'd go up to say "hi!", but I think maybe I bushed out my tail too much, and she said,

"OK, buster, that's close enough,"

when I was about three feet away. She was polite enough about it, I guess. Then Momma came over and told me that it looks like Tabby didn't want to share the honeysuckle, so we went back inside. Momma went back outside to ask Tabby if she needed anything, and she was very friendly and said,

"Just some face scritches, please!"

She had a hurty on her right hip, but Momma said it looked treated and her furs were shaved off around it, so she has someone taking care of her. So she must be someone's tough Attack Tabby.

So in honor of my new outdoor buddy Tabby, I thought I'd share a picture of one of the Ones Who Came Before, Scrappy the Cat.

This is Momma a squillion years ago

(fourteen, JJ)

when she was in college and found Scrappy roaming the streets of south-central L.A. He was one of the toughest dudes I've ever met, the kind that the lady-Beans like, even though he's difficult: good-lookin', smart, and really moody. He (and the other One Who Came Before, Scooter, who had a seizure and went to the Bridge a few months before I found Momma) lived with my Momma for seven years, through college and her stupid jobbity-jobs afterwards, until she got Coco in Chicago. Scrappy decided he didn't want to live with a dog, so he started peeing inside, which Momma said was Not Cool. So Scrappy lived with Granny and Poppa then for the next 6 years, and Granny spoiled him rotten. Seriously, it was disgusting, buddies. For some reason, Momma and Granny let Scraps get away with all sorts of stuff, which neither me nor Poppa nor Auntie Jane really understood. Quite frankly, buddies, we all thought he was kind of a jerk.

Well, Gran and Momma had to help Scrappy go to the Bridge this past January. He was fifteen, and he had had the diabetes for a long time, and all of his insides finally stopped working. Momma and Gran were really, really sad, and Gran still sees his ghost sometimes, around the corner.

So here's a Tuesday salute to all you Attack Tabbies out there: hurray for stripes!