R.I.P. Badb Catha, 2000-2010
Sep. 25th, 2010 04:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drpaisleyOur little special needs kitty is gone. She had turned 10 in August, and was only a week or so short of celebrating the 10th anniversary of NPulsifer bringing her back to our house from St. Louis.
When I went downstairs at 10a to make some breakfast before Rohanna and I started going through all the storage tubs in the dining room, I noticed Badb laying on the floor in the dining room, which was not at all unusual. After cooking bacon and summoning Ro to get her share, I began to sort loose items, and realized Badb was still in the same position. I went to pet her, and she was stiff. Ro estimates she went sometime between 9-10a. It was quick, as her eyes were still open, and probably only momentarily painful, if that.
Back in 2000, a couple of weeks before Archon, Nancy "Cleo" Hathaway was staying with some friends outside of St. Louis prior to the con. They had rural acreage, and one day while Cleo was wandering around in the woodsiness, she heard a cat screaming. She followed the sound, and found four kittens in a barn, abandoned by their mother. They had pretty much everything wrong with them they could (fleas, worms, malnutrition), so naturally she scooped them up and brought them back to her host's place. She got them as much treatment as she could, then posted on the net that she was bringing the foundlings to Archon, so people could take them home. Cleo would have cheerfully taken them home, but she had flown and it would have been $125 per kitten to take them back. Additionally, St. Louis did not have a no-kill shelter.
One of the places she mentioned it was the Dawn Patrol chat room, and, knowing Rohanna was about to join, I made sure the first message she saw was one saying "No! You cannot bring home a kitten!" See we have this rule here, One Cat Per Lap. It's a good rule, a simple rule, and at the time we had Aja, Melisande and Fergal, the magically transgendered cat (I'll write that one up someday, I promise). She whined and grinched, but agreed I was right.
So there we were, in St. Louis. Ro and I had driven up early in the morning, checked in and done some con activity, then headed into the city to meet NPulsifer and our son Eric. The Austin Lounge Lizards were performing that night, and we weren't about to miss them. After the show, we headed back to Collinsville (site of Archon), and headed up to the Dawn Patrol suite. NPulsifer walks in, looks over the array of cuteness, points at the little calico ball of fluff and says loudly "I'll take that one!" It had never occured to me that he would do that, since he was living with us at the time. Ro was ecstatic.
This particular kitten spent all weekend getting into places she shouldn't have been able to (the microwave, for one [yes, the door was open, but it was way too high off the ground and table for her to get to, we thought]), so she started being called "Satan." After a bit, when someone would call her that, I would add "Or Bob for short." This was the kitten Cleo had heard yelling for help, and her heroic efforts apparently had shredded her vocal cords, as she never emitted more than a squeak after that.
NPulsifer and Eric headed home with the kitten Sunday, and Ro and I got back Monday. Dragonet, who had been less than thrilled about the idea when I called her Saturday (NPulsifer's response: "I'll hand her the kitten, and if she doesn't like it, she can take it to kitty cat jail."), had been thoroughly charmed by the little crittur. Then the issue of the name came up. NPulsifer and I pointed out she had a name, to wit: Satan. The ladies demurred, saying if the cat got out and they had to go around the block calling it, that wouldn't do. I suggested Bob, as mentioned above. "You can't do that, that's a boy's name!" they objected, and one of them handed NPulsifer an Encyclopedia of Gods and Goddesses and told him to find something in there.
Never, ever tell NPulsifer he can't do something. We were watching baseball in the living room, while Ro was on her computer in her bedroom and Dragonet was downstairs on hers. Suddenly, he started laughing, then cackling.
"What'cha got?" I asked.
"A Celtic warrior goddess, B-a-d-b Catha," he replied. "How would you say that's pronounced?"
"Well, I'd say the 'd' is silent, and it sounds like Bob to me," I said, knowing better, "And it's Celtic, so you win."
He proceeded to take the book to the ladies, and I had the pleasure of hearing them individually cuss him out, but eventually agree he was right.
Badb was always a bit tetchy in the head, probably due to the effects of malnutrition and infestation as such an early age. But she was sweet and loving, and put up with my playing guitar with her whe she'd sit on my lap. I had done so with her just last night.
Here's a small gallery of pics of her; probably add more later. I'm sure Dragonet will post some when she can. That was the worst part, having to call her at RenFest and let her know.
Farewell, Badb, you silly little fluff muffin. I will miss you stopping dead in front of me as I walked along, especially on the stairs, and seeing you sprawled most inelegantly on the floor, or bed, or chair, begging to be petted.
When I went downstairs at 10a to make some breakfast before Rohanna and I started going through all the storage tubs in the dining room, I noticed Badb laying on the floor in the dining room, which was not at all unusual. After cooking bacon and summoning Ro to get her share, I began to sort loose items, and realized Badb was still in the same position. I went to pet her, and she was stiff. Ro estimates she went sometime between 9-10a. It was quick, as her eyes were still open, and probably only momentarily painful, if that.
Back in 2000, a couple of weeks before Archon, Nancy "Cleo" Hathaway was staying with some friends outside of St. Louis prior to the con. They had rural acreage, and one day while Cleo was wandering around in the woodsiness, she heard a cat screaming. She followed the sound, and found four kittens in a barn, abandoned by their mother. They had pretty much everything wrong with them they could (fleas, worms, malnutrition), so naturally she scooped them up and brought them back to her host's place. She got them as much treatment as she could, then posted on the net that she was bringing the foundlings to Archon, so people could take them home. Cleo would have cheerfully taken them home, but she had flown and it would have been $125 per kitten to take them back. Additionally, St. Louis did not have a no-kill shelter.
One of the places she mentioned it was the Dawn Patrol chat room, and, knowing Rohanna was about to join, I made sure the first message she saw was one saying "No! You cannot bring home a kitten!" See we have this rule here, One Cat Per Lap. It's a good rule, a simple rule, and at the time we had Aja, Melisande and Fergal, the magically transgendered cat (I'll write that one up someday, I promise). She whined and grinched, but agreed I was right.
So there we were, in St. Louis. Ro and I had driven up early in the morning, checked in and done some con activity, then headed into the city to meet NPulsifer and our son Eric. The Austin Lounge Lizards were performing that night, and we weren't about to miss them. After the show, we headed back to Collinsville (site of Archon), and headed up to the Dawn Patrol suite. NPulsifer walks in, looks over the array of cuteness, points at the little calico ball of fluff and says loudly "I'll take that one!" It had never occured to me that he would do that, since he was living with us at the time. Ro was ecstatic.
This particular kitten spent all weekend getting into places she shouldn't have been able to (the microwave, for one [yes, the door was open, but it was way too high off the ground and table for her to get to, we thought]), so she started being called "Satan." After a bit, when someone would call her that, I would add "Or Bob for short." This was the kitten Cleo had heard yelling for help, and her heroic efforts apparently had shredded her vocal cords, as she never emitted more than a squeak after that.
NPulsifer and Eric headed home with the kitten Sunday, and Ro and I got back Monday. Dragonet, who had been less than thrilled about the idea when I called her Saturday (NPulsifer's response: "I'll hand her the kitten, and if she doesn't like it, she can take it to kitty cat jail."), had been thoroughly charmed by the little crittur. Then the issue of the name came up. NPulsifer and I pointed out she had a name, to wit: Satan. The ladies demurred, saying if the cat got out and they had to go around the block calling it, that wouldn't do. I suggested Bob, as mentioned above. "You can't do that, that's a boy's name!" they objected, and one of them handed NPulsifer an Encyclopedia of Gods and Goddesses and told him to find something in there.
Never, ever tell NPulsifer he can't do something. We were watching baseball in the living room, while Ro was on her computer in her bedroom and Dragonet was downstairs on hers. Suddenly, he started laughing, then cackling.
"What'cha got?" I asked.
"A Celtic warrior goddess, B-a-d-b Catha," he replied. "How would you say that's pronounced?"
"Well, I'd say the 'd' is silent, and it sounds like Bob to me," I said, knowing better, "And it's Celtic, so you win."
He proceeded to take the book to the ladies, and I had the pleasure of hearing them individually cuss him out, but eventually agree he was right.
Badb was always a bit tetchy in the head, probably due to the effects of malnutrition and infestation as such an early age. But she was sweet and loving, and put up with my playing guitar with her whe she'd sit on my lap. I had done so with her just last night.
Here's a small gallery of pics of her; probably add more later. I'm sure Dragonet will post some when she can. That was the worst part, having to call her at RenFest and let her know.
Farewell, Badb, you silly little fluff muffin. I will miss you stopping dead in front of me as I walked along, especially on the stairs, and seeing you sprawled most inelegantly on the floor, or bed, or chair, begging to be petted.