Puck the Great

Two days ago, the Downey Street denizen Puck Ransom disappeared. He was a fifteen year old feline, struggling with rapid weight loss, arthritis and a host of other myriad ailments. We don't think we'll ever see him again.

Puck in December. I'm sorry I don't have a better picture.

Puck was a genial giant, in his prime a twenty pound cat that loved nothing more than to while away hours in my mother's lap. He was always eccentric. He was a runt with a funny limp at birth and was rejected from the litter by his mother; fortunately, he was adopted while still young into Ash's litter. We -- my mom, dad, Elsa, and myself -- took both Puck and Ash in as kittens when Elsa and I were still in high school. The two cats had been inseparable since, sharing both the Downey Street house and specifically my parent's bed for many years.

After the Downey Street fire, Puck and Ash lived with us for a year, and they got to meet many of our friends. Just about everyone commented on Puck's charming oddity and friendliness.

Puck had a number of endearing traits. While cats are famed for their grace, he was always an awkward creature. He would attempt to jump to a high perch and miss. He would knock down every object on a table and pretend he wasn't involved. And he would plop down legs splayed and belly up, entirely unaware he was showing a mass expanse of belly so plump he didn't have enough fur to cover it.

Puck was exceptionally sweet. As a young cat and then throughout his life, he would let his adopted sister Ash eat first every time food was served. Even as he aged -- picking up arthritis and a ghastly wart dripping from his chin -- he sought human attention throughout the house. He did always seem a bit more human than cat; I don't think he could have hunted a creature if it ran in front of his face, but he sure knew how to find the tuna bowl.

His sister Ash has been skittish for many years (since the fire), and often Puck was the only "person" she would tolerate for long. My mother did notice a peculiar sweetness between the two for the two days prior to his disappearance. They may have been saying goodbye; cats are said to know when they are going to die. Her behavior has already shifted since his disappearance; she wanders the upstairs pining for him, moaning and complaining. I can only hope she finds a little vigor and seeks companionship from my parents to fill the void.

Here's to Puck. We won't forget him.