Farewell to Flea the cat
Growing up on the farm many a feline personality has come and
gone as the love of my and my sisters’ lives over the years. Orange
ones, calico ones, big, puffy white furry ones
– you name the color coat and it lived on our farm.
Farewell to Flea the cat
Growing up on the farm many a feline personality has come and gone as the love of my and my sisters’ lives over the years. Orange ones, calico ones, big, puffy white furry ones – you name the color coat and it lived on our farm.
I always had a hard time saying goodbye to them when they passed away. So much so that when my cat Fluffy died, for example, I proceeded to call his two offspring, both white with the exact same orange circles on their fur as him, by the same name. Sometimes we had so many cats on our farm, Dad would take some of them to one of his other ranches to live and I was overjoyed the day my sister Laura’s cat, Muffins, actually returned to our farm after being moved. From that day forward we called her “Pesty.”
But there was no cat like Flea, who fell ill this Christmas and, after a short struggle with leukemia, passed away Jan. 11 – the perfect date for him, 1/11, for he was one of a kind.
Sleek white fur with a few dark patches, prominent brown nose, and a personality of a dozen best friends in one, Flea kept our days alive with love and laughter as he followed us from room to room, building to building, field to field meowing, or grumbling, or simply whining at us all the way. His unique personality provoked a special name from each of us: Flea, Mr. Flea, Mr. Treats, Roo, “Beautiful Prince” in Italian. As dogs are a man’s best friend, Flea was mine when getting through my work days.
A typical day with Flea began at 6 a.m. when he trotted across my head in hopes of waking me up so he could get a bite to eat. Later, while having my breakfast, Flea would sit outside the kitchen window, the tips of his ears barely visible above the kitchen table, patiently waiting for somebody – anybody! – to leave the house and head over to the office so he could get his first dose of his favorite treats made of free-range chicken, herbs and vitamins.
After treats, Flea would venture to the back of the farm where I work and wander around sniffing any scent that caught his nose’s attention. As I packed up my car for the day’s delivery route, Flea would roll around in the dirt on his back meowing until I gave in and wandered over to pet him for a few minutes. He would meow with glee until he had enough and he would let me know it by sinking his claws in to my hands. And when the car was packed and I was driving away, I would catch a glimpse of him in my rearview mirror perched in the field watching me drive away, a look of abandonment on his face, and I would force myself to look away for fear of experiencing a broken heart.
While packing orders, Flea often waited outside the cooler for me. He had a keen sense of smell for onions and would often be lured to the onion packing shed to sniff around. On lazier afternoons he could be found lounging in an empty cauliflower box under the sun. On even hotter days, he would ditch his post outside the cooler, trading it for a more shady area on our front lawn under the picnic table, on his back, his body stretched to capacity, paws curled.
His love of scents didn’t stop at the onion shed. Flea would often accompany me to the rows of flowers when we used to grow them where he would sniff the different varieties until he was seduced in to an afternoon nap. One of my favorite images of him was curled under the cosmos where he slept until the hard work was done. Flea also loved the scent of the rosemary bushes, drooled with happiness over lavender pillows and especially loved to sneak bites of Mom’s vanilla scented potpourri in the living room. Yes, as sweet as he was, he also had a mischievous side which was one of his best character traits.
At 4:30 sharp, Flea would be patiently waiting at the front door for his supper. Lover of canned fish, sometimes he refused his dry food and would rub against the island in the kitchen and purr until I was swayed in to opening a can for him. Triggered by the sound of the can’s suction as it opened, Flea would immediately stop his wooing and trot to the laundry room where he patiently waited for his catch of the day to be served.
I could tell hundreds of entertaining stories about Mr. Flea. His life of 12 years was not long enough and at this point, I cannot imagine the farm without our mascot who loved to greet customers and sit on the person’s lap that he knew the least in the room.
So for now when I am hard at work, I will pretend he is off following his nose elsewhere on the property searching for the perfect place to sleep, too absorbed in a dream to join us back at the house.
In honor of Flea’s love of herbs, here are a couple of recipes prominently seasoned with his favorites:
Crisp Rosemary Potatoes
from Gourmet Magazine
2 pound red potatoes, cut into 1/4-inch-thick slices
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary
Preheat oven to 450 degrees and generously oil 2 large baking sheets. Arrange potatoes in 1 layer on sheets. Brush tops with oil and sprinkle with rosemary and salt and pepper, to taste. Roast potatoes in upper and lower thirds of oven, switching position of sheets halfway through baking, until golden and edges are crisp, about 20 minutes.
Tabbouleh Salad
¼ cup bulgur
3 bunches of parsley washed thoroughly and minced, stems discarded
3-4 scallions, finely sliced in rings
2 medium tomatoes, finely diced
1 medium cucumber, peeled, seeded and finely diced
Dressing:
1 lemon
4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
Salt to taste
Rinse bulgur, then cover with cold water and soak in a bowl for one hour. Change the water or add more if necessary (it will absorb some water and there should be some left over). Drain completely and squeeze dry with your hands if desired.
Toss ingredients together in a bowl. Stir in dressing.
