The scenario

The cat, he is probably very sick. I owe a post about his miraculous creamy belly, his stripes which alternate the colors of graham cracker, wild flower honey, toffee, butter brickle, scotch, butterscotch, and your lighter varieties of bourbon. He is a delicious dessert of a cat with a pink studded collar and an oral tumor.

He has been an indoor-outdoor cat since the day of my wedding reception with Mr. P, the day all of the Pipestem relations (let's pretend for ease that the mister and I share a last name) wandered in and out of the house and accidentally let the cat out of the house. There I stood on the sidewalk, ten minutes after I had wanted to be at the golf club house that was our reception site to check that the relatives had gotten the decorations right. I was in my wedding dress, a long and plain white silk one, with bright pink slippers and orchids in my hair, calling out the kitty's name, hoping the neighbors would all look out and see me in this sunbeam in my dress and know my cat was lost, right here on this my pseudo-wedding day.

If this turns out to be not only our reception day but also the day my cat got hit by car, this is going to put a damper on my memories of it, thought I. Instead, there was Cat in the headlights when I pulled into the driveway that night, chasing another cat off his yard as if he was born to run.

Before he became, somewhat against my will, a declawed indoor outdoor cat, he was a fluffy overweight indoor mackerel tabby rescued from the pound by me on December 31, 1999, who chewed my books and papers, woke me up at 4 in the morning, and purred me through all the major happenings of my late and middle twenties.

As an outdoor cat, he turned out to be a success. He lost weight, didn't roam too far, and was seen to catch at least one tiny rodent (we tried to save it) and one bird (which we did not let him eat).

Here have been his weights.

**Eighteen pounds when I stood with him on a scale this summer.

**Seventeen pounds six ounces in September, when he first went to consult the vet about the weird way his gum had suddenly grown over top of his tooth.

**Sixteen pounds October 10th when he had his gum snipped and his tartary teeth all cleaned. When I rejoiced because my formerly fat cat was now a lithesome beast who no longer chewed my papers to shreds but spent his days in the sun out back, running after birds.

**Fifteen pounds, seven ounces yesterday when he went to the vet again for the new tumor which appeared on his palate like a semi truck, between Thursday and Friday of last week.