Rajah (Nov 1994 - Jan 2009)
Rajah died today. It was a stroke, which was infinitely better than if he had hung on until his kidneys got him instead. We think he had a minor stroke a few days ago, and that's why he mostly lost the ability to walk. It didn't stop him from trying though. He rose up using his front paws for balance, would wobble a bit trying to get the other two legs up, take a few staggering paces and then fall over on his side and cry pitifully. We would try to guess what he was trying to do and help him get there, because otherwise he would wear himself out struggling down the hall. He wouldn't stay put if you just put him back where he was. But he was content to be in a lap or in sunshine. He wanted to be warm, and he always loved his people.
He was my cat, and he showed me he loved me by sleeping right under my chin or by clawing at my hair to wake me up. He also loved to walk along the window opening between the kitchen and dining room, and rub against my face and nibble my nose when I was there and would let him. He even got jealous when I had a boyfriend, and would get between us when Eric and I were trying to cuddle.
He was a blue point siamese with a faint spark of siamese craziness left in him, and he never meowed but instead roared a deep, throaty "Ow!" or "OWR!" In his younger days he would race through the kitchen and bank off the walls sideways, yelling, "WARrarRarRar!!!" to intimidate the other cats. Or maybe it was just because he was bored. He *did* intimidate the other cats though. He was the king of all felines to the very end.
Rajah had to be tough. He was small for his size, but he defended his yard against all comers. Especially the orange persian down the street who wasn't neutered and would come over to spray our windows. Tigger beat Rajah up and inadvertently taught my smaller cat to be brave and fight harder to keep him out. I always thought of him as a feline Master Splinter, or Mr. Miyagi. He was small, but a tough fighter with a very wise look in his deep blue eyes.
(Rajah is the cat in the center. This is the most convenient picture of him, taken over Christmas. Don't know where his younger pictures have gotten to.)
He only ever got along with three other cats in his lifetime. Bishou was there before Rajah came to live with us and was a sweetheart who loved other cats. He and Rajah were buddies. Then Kishou came a few years after when Bishou and Menina died. Kishou and Rajah seemed to have an understanding that Rajah was boss, no questions asked. They used to play together, and Kishou always remembered that and would still ask Rajah to play in his old age. This Christmas, my sister and I had to push Kishou away because we were afraid his playfulness might accidentally hurt our old man cat.
He was the most intelligent cat I've ever had. He pretty much thought he was human, and he would eat human food. He liked porkchops the best, but he's also the only cat I've ever known who would eat broccoli. And when I left him for college, he took up with my brother. Terry's wheelchair frightens most of the other cats, but Rajah would ask for a ride and then jump up on a chair or the bed so Terry could pull alongside him and he could step into Terry's lap. He spent most of his late years in Terry's room because it was the warmest in the house, had large windows with pools of sunshine, and an oxygen machine that expels hot air when it is turned on at night.
Rajah was so intelligent, he had an imagination. My sister's black cat Halloween costume upset him so much that we had to hold him away from her, because he was growling like he seriously was prepared to fight her to the death. The other cats didn't care and merely thought Christy looked funny, but Rajah could see the giant black cat, and he didn't like it at all. That may also be the reason why he never liked Tabby, our obnoxious tortoiseshell with tortietude and the worst cat voice ever. She would walk into the room and yell at him, and he would instantly stiffen if he didn't sail into her immediately. Black cats especially drove Rajah crazy.
But that wasn't half as crazy as he got when I went to a summer program for six weeks during high school. I'd never left him for that long before, and he thought something had eaten me. Mom says he started randomly hitting things that were dark and long. Belts, piles of laundry... The worst of it was the case Mom was sewing for my wooden flute before she sent it to me at the college. It was a sewn tube of fabric with some bubble wrap inside to protect the flute, and it was hanging off the edge of the fireplace. Rajah approached it slowly, hit it *hard* with a force normally meant to incapacitate mice-- and the flute flipped in midair and bopped him on the head! Eventually he moved out of the house because he kept seeing "snakes" everywhere. He wasn't ok again until I had been home for a few weeks, and for a while he shunned me for leaving him.
We buried him today under a stone dragon statue surrounded by the fish pond, an apricot tree, a forsythia bush and a flower bed. It seemed like a fine and private place, a beautiful one where I would never forget where he is. The three cats who attended Rajah's burial weren't in mourning, as cats only live for the moment and they were already over the fear of death they got while smelling him, but it was comfort for my mom that they were there while she dug the grave. Rajah deserved a king's burial.
He was my cat, and he showed me he loved me by sleeping right under my chin or by clawing at my hair to wake me up. He also loved to walk along the window opening between the kitchen and dining room, and rub against my face and nibble my nose when I was there and would let him. He even got jealous when I had a boyfriend, and would get between us when Eric and I were trying to cuddle.
He was a blue point siamese with a faint spark of siamese craziness left in him, and he never meowed but instead roared a deep, throaty "Ow!" or "OWR!" In his younger days he would race through the kitchen and bank off the walls sideways, yelling, "WARrarRarRar!!!" to intimidate the other cats. Or maybe it was just because he was bored. He *did* intimidate the other cats though. He was the king of all felines to the very end.
Rajah had to be tough. He was small for his size, but he defended his yard against all comers. Especially the orange persian down the street who wasn't neutered and would come over to spray our windows. Tigger beat Rajah up and inadvertently taught my smaller cat to be brave and fight harder to keep him out. I always thought of him as a feline Master Splinter, or Mr. Miyagi. He was small, but a tough fighter with a very wise look in his deep blue eyes.
(Rajah is the cat in the center. This is the most convenient picture of him, taken over Christmas. Don't know where his younger pictures have gotten to.)
He only ever got along with three other cats in his lifetime. Bishou was there before Rajah came to live with us and was a sweetheart who loved other cats. He and Rajah were buddies. Then Kishou came a few years after when Bishou and Menina died. Kishou and Rajah seemed to have an understanding that Rajah was boss, no questions asked. They used to play together, and Kishou always remembered that and would still ask Rajah to play in his old age. This Christmas, my sister and I had to push Kishou away because we were afraid his playfulness might accidentally hurt our old man cat.
He was the most intelligent cat I've ever had. He pretty much thought he was human, and he would eat human food. He liked porkchops the best, but he's also the only cat I've ever known who would eat broccoli. And when I left him for college, he took up with my brother. Terry's wheelchair frightens most of the other cats, but Rajah would ask for a ride and then jump up on a chair or the bed so Terry could pull alongside him and he could step into Terry's lap. He spent most of his late years in Terry's room because it was the warmest in the house, had large windows with pools of sunshine, and an oxygen machine that expels hot air when it is turned on at night.
Rajah was so intelligent, he had an imagination. My sister's black cat Halloween costume upset him so much that we had to hold him away from her, because he was growling like he seriously was prepared to fight her to the death. The other cats didn't care and merely thought Christy looked funny, but Rajah could see the giant black cat, and he didn't like it at all. That may also be the reason why he never liked Tabby, our obnoxious tortoiseshell with tortietude and the worst cat voice ever. She would walk into the room and yell at him, and he would instantly stiffen if he didn't sail into her immediately. Black cats especially drove Rajah crazy.
But that wasn't half as crazy as he got when I went to a summer program for six weeks during high school. I'd never left him for that long before, and he thought something had eaten me. Mom says he started randomly hitting things that were dark and long. Belts, piles of laundry... The worst of it was the case Mom was sewing for my wooden flute before she sent it to me at the college. It was a sewn tube of fabric with some bubble wrap inside to protect the flute, and it was hanging off the edge of the fireplace. Rajah approached it slowly, hit it *hard* with a force normally meant to incapacitate mice-- and the flute flipped in midair and bopped him on the head! Eventually he moved out of the house because he kept seeing "snakes" everywhere. He wasn't ok again until I had been home for a few weeks, and for a while he shunned me for leaving him.
We buried him today under a stone dragon statue surrounded by the fish pond, an apricot tree, a forsythia bush and a flower bed. It seemed like a fine and private place, a beautiful one where I would never forget where he is. The three cats who attended Rajah's burial weren't in mourning, as cats only live for the moment and they were already over the fear of death they got while smelling him, but it was comfort for my mom that they were there while she dug the grave. Rajah deserved a king's burial.