Poor Merlin has died. He was a very loving kitteh. Like all cats, he was very curious and poked his nose into everything. Unlike most cats, everything he found terrified him. It was both amusing and sad.
We called him “Merp” for his meow. That’s not really what he said. He meowed in Russian: Меръ. English doesn’t have that abrupt stop on an “r” sound, so “merp” it became.
He had about a year and a half in the new place to be king of the house. It was a much needed change for him after dealing with Pavarotti and Ella in Denver. It was good to see him enjoying himself rather than hiding under the bed. He even explored the backyard, until the wind blew, which scared him back inside.
I’ll miss him subtly letting it be known that he needed bedtime petting – by standing on my chest until he got chin rubs. He was always excited for bedtime. He’d run down the hallway to the bedroom whenever I started in that direction, which also includes the office and bathroom. He was frequently disappointed that it wasn’t time for bed. He wasn’t the smartest of cats.
He’s buried where there will be a tree, if the backyard landscaping ever gets done.
Marked Up 