Our Pancake was selective. We always joked about how he would rub against our guests’ legs but hiss if they touched him. It took years for our best friends to become “acceptable” to him. And, I’m not sure he ever met a vet that he didn’t injure. (Sorry about that to all his vets, by the way.)
But for me, he was like putty. He would sit politely at my feet and look expectantly at me until I acknowledged him. When I tapped the arm of the couch, he’d hop up and sit next to me, cozy and content, under my arm like I was a spy movie villain and he my faithful minion. If I was sitting on the bed, he’d sit with his tail or leg touching me, just to be sure I was there. When my husband and I slept, he slept between us until it was time for his evening rounds. He led us upstairs every morning and evening; I still “see” him at the top of the stairs sometimes or darting around a corner ahead of me. I miss him so much.
He flew across the country with me, from Chicago to Seattle. He lived in three different places over our time together, one of them a temporary apartment. He could have freaked out about that, but he didn’t. For him, home was wherever we were. He loved to watch birds. He loved kicker toys. He loved being up high and sleeping in sunshine. He loved us. He protected us, from threats both laser and insect.
We adopted him when he was three. We held him in our arms and said goodbye when he was fourteen. We will love him always. We are so proud to have been his home and so happy he chose us.