ilovemisterman.com

It was Spring of 2002 and I was barely eking out a living by working a temp job and living in a condo with my Dad in Budd Lake. I was waiting to hear about whether I was accepted to graduate school or whether I would return to seasonal employment with the Park Service. Work was mindless but one of my best friend’s Dads had hooked me up, paying me twelve bucks an hour to assemble Mobile Vision in-car audio/video systems for police cars. To get through the monotony of this assembly line environment I passed the hours with one co-worker talking about trout fishing and all the others talking about cats. One of my co-workers told me about all the stray cats she had running around on her farm, sleeping under wood piles and chasing ducks. I promised her that I’d take two kittens from the next litter one of the momma cats popped out. I considered it a good sumaritan effort to rescue the next litter from living in a wood pile. I also planned to be a responsible pet owner and eliminate them from the gene pool and the ever growing number of stray cats.

A few months later I was accepted to graduate school and upon leaving for West Virginia University I went to round up two of the orange and white fluffies from the farm. On the drive to West Virginia my 8 week-old orange and white fluffies, Ansel (the male) and Opal (the female), wrapped themselves in a wad together under the front seat. As soon as the stress of the six hour drive was over, they quickly were comfortable in my house and found my lap a place to call home. When Ansel and Opal were kittens they would each take up morning residence in the pockets of my bathrobe while I ate breakfast and got ready for school. We used to go for “cat walks”. I would throw Ansel over one shoulder and Opal over the other and we would walk the half mile loop trail behind the house. Sometimes I just stuffed them in my coat and they loved it.

After graduating from WVU, me and the beasties moved to Blacksburg, Virginia. By this time I had renamed Ansel “Mr. Man” and it stuck. Opal’s named morphed to Opi, then Moki, then Momo. For the most part Momo has stuck but sometimes I refer to her as Slow-Mo (thanks Kerry).

Mr. Man was my man of the house. He took care of me at night, snuggling right behind my knees to keep me tucked into the covers. In the morning he woke me up with a soft recurring purr which was his way of saying: “Good morning my human mommy, I love you but please get up and feed me and then go to work so you can earn money to buy me that savory Fancy Feast canned catfood, you know, the one with the green beans in a delicate sauce???” One of Mr. Man’s quirks was that he’d rather eat a bowl of green beans than a plate of turkey. His favorite vegetables were corn on the cob and tomatoes.

One of his other little quirks was that he always stole my attention from Momo and the pupler. He did this by bumping my arm or somewhere on my body to get my attention to pet him. This "bump" was not a timid one as I had to be careful not to spill what I had in my hand or mess up what I was attempting to write. Often times he would just sit in the middle of the magazine I was reading, step on my laptop’s keyboard, or make himself comfortable in the middle of the Scrabble board. Mr. Man was also a hunter. He brought countless dead animals home and left the “presents” in my bed for me to see. He was also an explorer - he liked to climb in the cupboards, climb in the hamper, walk on the counters, climb through the car windows, walk on the roof of the house, and climb trees. There was really nothing he didn't want to get into or onto and so he usually did.

One of his favorite things was playing “Super Kitty”. It might look uncomfortable for a cat but I’m telling you, he loved it.

I knew something wasn’t right when my Mister didn’t meet me in the driveway when I arrived home from work over a week ago. I haven’t seen Mr. Man since the morning of Wednesday March 21, just a week after his 5th birthday. I have searched the neighborhood, investigated all nooks and crannies in the house and yard, and followed up on every squeak and thump I hear in the house. I can’t find him. I really don’t know what happened to him and I’ve been reluctant to talk about it because I thought for sure I’d see him again. You all know how much I cherish him and I don’t like thinking about life without his love. I used to tell him he was my favorite and ask him how could I ever live without him. I hope that he's still out there - on a tomler vacation maybe: seeking refuge in a barn, chasing grasshoppers in the hay, and eating out of the neighbor's early garden.