Farewell, Mr. Otto

This has nothing to do with women’s health, but it’s my blog and I can do what I want. Our dear, geriatric cat Mr. Otto died this morning. He was about 21 years old, and lived a good, long life. Toward the end, he needed a lot of meds and special care, and we’re glad he’s not uncomfortable any more.

A few Otto memories:
-We got him several years ago when The Husband’s brother married a woman who is allergic to cats. I was terrified of taking him, because I wasn’t sure how long he would live. I’ve very glad we did and were able to give him several more good years surrounded by other lively kitties.
-Otto had the best fuzzy paws, but couldn’t stand for me to mess with them.
-Otto liked to play with toilet paper, shredding it to bits. I encouraged him at this.
-Otto also enjoyed beer, milk, cheese, and other dairy products. Even when his eyesight was lessened, he would sneak up and take cheese out of your hand while you weren’t looking.
-He liked to sleep on my pillow, wrapped around my head. Once, I woke up with cat poo matted into my hair as a result, which caused me with my warped sense of humor to laugh hysterically.
-Otto took what we called “camel drinks.” When he drank water, he stocked up for a trip across the desert, and you could hear it all over the house.

I’ll add more if I think of them, but it’s been a rough morning.
The more:
-Otto was the only one of our cats who would get in the trash like a dog, and actually pull over the tall kitchen can.
-I always swore Mr. Otto had a crush on our orange girl kitty, Ms. Ella, because he gave her lots of attention.
-Otto was so fast at whapping other kitties that we called him a “ninja kitty.”
-He also liked to sit with his face in the path of air conditioning vents.
-Once, The Husband and I were visiting my parents out of town, and took Otto with us because he needed medication and we didn’t want to board him. My parents live in a split-foyer house, and Mr. Otto’s eyesight had been diminished due to a blood pressure issue. He was exploring the house, and the very second I turned to say, “Let me put something in front of this railing so he won’t walk through,” he walked through. From the top portion, falling to the bottom. Never fear, he wasn’t hurt. It was very Wile E. Coyote, he stepped out, seemed to hover for a second, and then fell straight down to the bottom. Somehow he managed to turn himself so he was parallel with the steps, and landed on his feet, precisely on the bottom step. I ran down to grab him, muttering, “I’m glad The Husband didn’t see that.” Of course, The Husband walked around the corner at exactly that moment and said, “Didn’t see what?”

Also, Jag asked about how Otto got his unusual name. I can’t take credit for it, but I get a kick out of the story. My brother-in-law somehow came to be in possession of two black kittens. One of them was not pure black, but had a white spot on his throat, right about where a tracheotomy hole might be. That kitten was therefore named “Trach” and Mr. Otto took up the second half of the term. Odd senses of humor run in the husband’s family.

I used to sing to him to the tune of the Sesame Street/Ernie song “Rubber Ducky:”
Mr. Otto, you’re the one
You make nap time so much fun
Otto buddy I’m awfully fond of you

We buried him in a shady spot in the back yard, facing due east. We’ll be planting a tree for him later.