Mullet

The photo above was taken Sunday evening. Mullet passed away on Monday afternoon. She was just a week shy of being 21 years old. We had only had her since she was 14 though. Mullet's previous owner, my coworker, Julie, died suddenly of an aneurism and did not have any family except for her elderly father. She had just adopted a puppy, and her father decided that he could take the dog, but he could not take Mullet. One of my other coworkers asked around looking for a home for Julie's cat. We already had a cat, Catfish Ted, and were not interested in having another. After three days, no one had been found to take her in and they were going to take her to the pound. I knew that she was 14 years old, and I knew the odds of her being adopted were slim to none, so I asked for a little more information. Up until then, I didn't know the cat's name. When I found out her name was Mullet, it just seemed like a sign - Catfish and Mullet. I talked to Tray about it, and he agreed that we couldn't let her go to the pound to be put to sleep. We thought we'd be giving her temporary shelter, like hospice care, until she died naturally - a year or two at most. Well, you see how that turned out. I never would have guessed that she'd live to be 21, or that "cat" would be Penny's first word (and not directed at Catfish).

I mentioned before that she was a torbie, which means she was a mix between a tortoise shell and tabby: tortoise colors in a tabby pattern. Torbies are known for being foul-natured, which why you don't see a whole lot of them. In fact, when I took her to the vet to have her checked out right after adopting her, the vet said something like, "you know she's a torbie, right?" and proceeded to explain. Just about every other time I ever took her to the vet for annual shots, the vets would inhale sharply when they opened her box and go, "ok. She's a torbie," and they'd be on heightened alert for the visit. All of that was very funny to me because she couldn't have been a more laid-back cat. I didn't take chances with her though. I would caution visitors with kids not to let them pet her and to pet Catfish instead. Turns out, those concerns were laughable too, because once Penny was born, she was pretty much a little kid's best friend. I cannot tell you how many times Penny pulled her tail, or her whiskers, or pulled up to stand using Mullet's back, or draped Mardi Gras beads around her neck, or smushed her to the floor with an overzealous hug, or kissed her right between the ears. Mullet never once - not once - batted at Penny, claws or no-claws. Never hissed. Never hid from her.


Mullet may not have been the most affectionate kitty (I can just about count on my fingers the number of times she ever sat in my lap), but she loved my daughter - of that I'm certain. And Penny loves her too. We will miss you, Mullet girl. Give a nose-bump to Catfish for me.