A late night phone call or knock on the door is never a good thing. That was definitely the case this evening. Our neighbor from across the street said that he thought he had found our cat, Percy. I stepped across the road with him to find that Percy had apparently been hit by a car, and it had just happened. I’d though that our neighborhood would be pet-safe now that we were on a cul-du-sac, but apparently not.
Percy was a rescue cat from Florida. He had been abused, and had shown up on Amy’s back porch one day, wanting to be fed. We agreed to take him, and she brought him up here early fall of 2009.
Percy made himself right at home. Despite his rough previous life, he was the sweetest, most loving cat we’ve ever owned. He insisted on snuggling as close under my chin as possible. He would purr to the point of drooling, which could be a bit disgusting.
Percy also quickly became the neighborhood favorite. He would leave first thing in the morning to make his rounds, visiting up and down the street. I had several neighbors comment on how they enjoyed his visits and pleasant disposition.
As a Florida cat, Percy loved the water. He loved to sit down by our lake, and he also seemed to be fascinated by the kayaks. He was also fascinated by snow, and loved to prance and play in it on the rare occasions when we had snow.
We never really knew how old he was. The vet thought Percy was at least two years old when we got him, but he may have been older than that. We only had him for a year and a half, but in that short time he quickly became our favorite cat. He spent his last night in his usual spot, curled up on a pillow on our bed between us, snuggling as close as he could get. He will certainly be missed.