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His Life

Born April 20, 1998, Peabody was the runt of the litter. With a not completely flat face, he was a Silver Chinchilla Persian not made to be a show cat. The only one not to be chosen out of his brothers and sisters, I took him home. My mom and I bonded with him easily the first weeks because he had ringworms when we brought him home.

After that, he was gentle, playful and curious growing up. During that time, he loved to explore everything. He once even managed to get behind and in my parents' dresser where he became lost as well as trapped until my father came to the rescue. My sister and I had made a one story house from cardboard for him and he loved to hide out in it or simply use it to get away from "potential dangers". One time he had turned the corner too fast to enter it, that he ran into said corner. That didn't stop him a bit. He dashed right in on his second try.

He'd dart around the house and his tail looked like a little silver Christmas tree as it stuck straight up into the air. He sometimes even reminded me of a small car and his tail the antenna in the back. He loved little cheese flavored cat treats and would often join my mother and me for tea, he had lactose free creamer though. Despite his mischievous nature and spoiled upbringing, he was a very tolerant and patient cat. He took baths without a fuss and got along with everyone.

By the time he reached adulthood, he was still undersized and never reached above seven pounds. He had a small, feminine voice and to know he was purring you would need to feel it since it never reached hearing level. Despite that, he grew to be a beautiful, elegant cat. I loved to simply look at him and never could understand how he could have been the last to be taken out of his litter.

He liked to pick specific rooms (usually mine) to be his own and would enjoy looking out the door as though he were on guard. He did well with change and didn't mind long car rides. He often joined us when we went away on trips and had developed a love for dark luggage bags and leather. Despite his lineage was of a long line of show cats and a life of great domestication, he loved the out doors which danced on our very nerves since he was declawed and smaller than average. He loved watching the birds and make humorously cute sounds of interest.

We found his personality quite amusing at times. Despite his small stature and his high pitched yet tiny meow, he was an alpha male through and through. We had many cats. One was a year or so older than him. Two were two years younger and later on after them came another. If a cat bothered him, his vocals would spread and you'd be able to hear him all across the house. He was like a siren wailing. He wasn't afraid to show his dislike and would growl like a car engine running. He had his territory and he made sure that what was his stayed his. He was like a little prince of authority.

Peabody was very unique in his way of eating and drinking as well. He was a light, dainty eater. He would pull a kibble or two from the bowl, drop it onto the table it eat one at a time from there. I always figured that is why he never ate much. He ate slow, took small bites and chewed it well.

His drinking was more diverse. As most pet owners know, a cat or dog will occasionally drink from the toilet. Peabody was no exception. However, he acted like it was a pool or a well. Most cats sit on the pot and duck their heads in. Peabody, rested his front paws on the rim, keeping his hind paws on the floor. He'd curl his paw under and dip it into the water, pull it back up and drink the water that he held in his paw. It was very human like if you ignore the lapping.

He also loved to drink from the water tray connected to plant pots. He expected his water source t come from there. When he'd get up on the table and check for water and found none, he'd look up at me in question. I'd always smile and got fill up a tall glass of water and then water the plants. He'd wait until the water filtered through and reached the tray. Once the tray was full he'd drink from it.

He adored French fries and beef jerky later on in life. His face would perk up and he'd meow like mad when he got a whiff of either. Despite his lack of claws, he still marked his territories with his paws. He particularly liked the back of my mother's chair. He always struck me as a harp player, because he plucked at a certain area which answered with a strum.

As time passed on, my family moved to a house that completely suited his likings. He preferred my parents' bedroom this time around, but still patrolled the areas outside it. He was still ever the dutiful guard cat. A cat of unknown origins would pop up outside and he would become alert. He'd follow after it despite house walls separating them and give off an alarm of growls to yowling. The house was his kingdom.

In the center of the house is an atrium that was practically labeled as his and was considered sanctuary to all the cats. He enjoyed being outside in it for a couple of years until his time of passing. He wasn't able to go out in it as often as he liked after he was diagnosed. Only when it was in the seventies was he allowed and we made sure he could cherish as many days outside as he could.

He was always a small cat and weighed less than average. As his kidneys slowly failed, his weight lowered by one to two pounds. He no longer could be given cat treats or jerky. He was stuck on a low protein cat food and had to be given medicine every morning and evening.

For a while we took him to the veterinary clinic three days every other day. That eventually dwindled to two times. There he received fluid injections to help flush the toxins in his body. He lasted about five months since the day we first learned his kidneys were failing.

From what I know, he didn't suffer. His last months were spent peacefully in my parents' bedroom. While he couldn't enjoy treats or nicer food my father managed to get the same bright-eyed, expectant reaction from him in the mornings by giving him "stomach scritches". He adored those and at times one could even hear his purrs. Once his morning scritch was done, he liked to drink the water left in the tub once my mother finished taking a shower. He would sometimes go to the door, and look to see if my mom was out yet. He'd wait at the corner anxiously for her to emerge and would dart in there to lap the water off the tiles and tub bowl. None of us understood why he adored drinking from there, however. On warm days he could bask out in the fresh air and inspect my mother's many plants.

It was only on his last few days of living was he miserable. He no longer felt even in the range of decent and hid under my parents' bed. He no longer ate nor could he pass fluids. I could have set him up for a long week of care at the vet's that had a 50/50 chance of survival, but even then, should he have pulled through, his time left only would have been for a short period.

So, on May 6, 2008, I decided it was best for him to simply be put to sleep. So, near five that afternoon my mother and I said our goodbyes to him. We mainly wept, petted and held him, really... It had been a miserable moment for all of us. Eventually my mother and I left since neither of us thought we could handle seeing him pass away before our eyes.

My cat's name was Mr. Peabody. He had been named by the woman who sold him to us because his large eyes reminded her of Professor Peabody from an old cartoon. He was later given the full name of Maxwell Alexander Peabody.

I think he had a good life. He was loved by all of us. He brought much joy to my life. He was my boy, my baby, my little love... I miss his scent, his soft fur, his tiny meow and his vibrant green eyes. I wish he were here. I wish I could still touch him, pet him and have him respond. I miss him...