The Story of Roscoe

Meet Roscoe, our 22 pound bruiser.

He originated in the Wildcat Hills as a "barn" cat at my boss' homestead.
Being an intact tomcat, he spent more time scrappin' than anything else.
 As a result, each ear was tattered and he was constantly injured.
Of course, being such a big brute, the other
parties were usually worse for wear.

Karen decided it was time to find Roscoe a new domicile.
 Evidently she has my number in her rolodex under 
"sucker" because she called me right up.

"Do you guys want another cat?" she asked.

Well, we were down to Eddikins, Lilly, Bree and Mittens. 
Our mouse population was escalating so I readily agreed. 
 She delivered him to me at school and I carted him home. 

He was in rough shape. 
Both ears were completely torn up
and in various stages of healing.  
Mardell took one look at him and
called the vet clinic to get his balls snipped off.

That evidently pushed him over the edge.  
He hid under the bed for months.
Guess I can't blame him.


He only came out to eat and scowl at us.
Slowly but surely he came around 
and decided we weren't so evil after all.

He adopted Mardell as his own and 
planted himself on her every night.

Of course, he didn't want to share her 
so he growled at everyone (animal and human)
that came within a ten foot radius while he perched on her.  

The first time that she went to Mary's for a week-end, 
I didn't see him until I went to bed.  He jumped up on my chest 
and glared at me, while emitting a very low, guttural growl.  
I think he blamed me for her disappearance. 
I slept with one eye open that night.  

Life went on and he got used to her 
disappearing for a day here and a day there.

He definitely felt like she belonged to him 
and would have absolutely nothing to do with me.  
I was only good for feeding him and 
even then, he preferred for Mardell to do it.

After Willowby's kittens had graduated from the birthing basket to running around the house, he decided that he had had enough and moved outside to the shed.  I tried to coax him back inside with no luck.  I tried luring him with canned cat food.  No dice.  I tried tuna fish.  Still no dice.  I even tried liver.  If anything should have worked, that should have.  Eventually I accepted the fact that he wasn't moving back in.  I continued to put food out and after a fashion I saw him less and less, until eventually I didn't seem him again.  I figured the coyotes had feasted on him ... probably for a week or more! 


The summer was busy with moving to a new school and trying to get settled.
Just as school was starting, we decided to move Mom in with us and so there were more adjustments to be made.  Life went on and he slowly faded from our memories.

Mom was always a cat person.  The bigger the better.
Etta, her psycho Maine Coon cat, was extremely large and she hated me.
Etta, not Mom.  When Etta died, Mom mourned her loss for a long time.


I think the best thing for Mom about moving in with us was that we had cats.
Kittens were born the first week she lived with us.  Naturally they had to be in her room.


She loved our polydactyl tomcat, Mittens --- 
even when he began kneading with that extra toe.

He loved her too. 
He would lay on top of her for the
entire afternoon if she would let him.
It was a common sight to see him lounging on top of her.

We got up one week-end morning and 
Mom was out on the futon watching television.
"Look who I've got again," she bragged. 



I did a double take.  She thought Mittens had come in during the night and climbed up on top of her, but it wasn't Mittens at all.  It was Roscoe, who had now been missing for at least sixteen weeks.  He had come in the pet door, jumped up on her and claimed her, just as he had done with Mardell many moons before.  Now he spent all of his time with 
Mom and had nothing to do with the rest of us.


The day Mom died was kind of chaotic.  Once we finally got the CR-V dug out of the snow and had dealt with the county coroner and deputies, we went to town and made arrangements at the funeral home for her cremation.  We pretty much collapsed when we got home.  The next few days were pretty much a blur.  Once the dust had settled, so to speak, after Mom's memorial service, we realized that we hadn't seen Roscoe for several days.  


I went out and looked around the shed and some of his other haunts.
I didn't see hide nor hair of him.  We kind of joked around that he was torqued because Mom died and he up and left us.



Yesterday he waltzed in as if he had not been gone for a month.


He's still huge and he has once again reclaimed Mardell and her bed.
That doesn't bode well for Goliath.