More Phantom Memories.
I miss his headbutt-love. That's how he used to greet me when I got home. He'd sit on the arm of the couch, and I'd bend down, and he'd headbutt me a few times. Misty still meets me at the stairs and indulges me when I reach out to pet her, but she's just hoping we'll feed her, mostly. It's not personal with her. She'll take her love, feeding and attention wherever she can get it. (Though, it is worth noting that if both Justin and I are in bed or on the couch and open for loving, she'll try him first.)
He used to try to wedge himself into places which were too small for him despite his huge size. He loved, loved, loved boxes and broke more than his fair share proving that the box was just the right size for him when it clearly wasn't. This included, too, wedging himself between me and Keith or me and Justin. He was the one who should be getting all the loving, clearly. He'd also try to balance on our window ledges here which are way, way too small for even a cat of little Misty's size, let alone big old Phantom's. He'd do just fine and, even if teetering, would keep his head high, aware that he was proving us wrong.
He was very sneaky about loving up on the other cats. Most of the time, he'd glare at them and use them as an excuse to leave the room, insistent on getting all the loving all the time. But when no one else was looking, when there weren't people around, he'd cuddle right on up with the other cats. Even though Misty's happier as a lone kitty, she loved this attention and would gladly return the affection, cleaning him or letting him clean her.
I remember when he bit Pete. I found this to be hysterical. He was very good about letting people know when he didn't want to be petted. First, he'd snap his tail back and forth sharply, often trying to hit you with it to make sure you got the point. If you kept going anyway, he'd whip his head around and take a quick nip at you. Nothing painful, but a good, firm warning. Pete didn't get warnings one and two. He just got a sharp bite. I've always said he was a good judge of character. I remember when the neighbor across the street in the Mews told me she'd kill him if he ever bit her kids again. I advised her to teach her kids not to pet--and likely torment--animals they didn't know. Mean old woman. Hrmpf!
He was terrified of plastic bags. Whereas Misty loves them--she licks them, chews on them, lays on them--he would run away at the sound. Once, he'd gotten stuck in the handle of one and just couldn't get out. He started running around in a panic, but it, obviously, just followed him making that constant crinkly noise. Plastic bags were as big a threat, in his world, as vacuum cleaners.
He used to try to wedge himself into places which were too small for him despite his huge size. He loved, loved, loved boxes and broke more than his fair share proving that the box was just the right size for him when it clearly wasn't. This included, too, wedging himself between me and Keith or me and Justin. He was the one who should be getting all the loving, clearly. He'd also try to balance on our window ledges here which are way, way too small for even a cat of little Misty's size, let alone big old Phantom's. He'd do just fine and, even if teetering, would keep his head high, aware that he was proving us wrong.
He was very sneaky about loving up on the other cats. Most of the time, he'd glare at them and use them as an excuse to leave the room, insistent on getting all the loving all the time. But when no one else was looking, when there weren't people around, he'd cuddle right on up with the other cats. Even though Misty's happier as a lone kitty, she loved this attention and would gladly return the affection, cleaning him or letting him clean her.
I remember when he bit Pete. I found this to be hysterical. He was very good about letting people know when he didn't want to be petted. First, he'd snap his tail back and forth sharply, often trying to hit you with it to make sure you got the point. If you kept going anyway, he'd whip his head around and take a quick nip at you. Nothing painful, but a good, firm warning. Pete didn't get warnings one and two. He just got a sharp bite. I've always said he was a good judge of character. I remember when the neighbor across the street in the Mews told me she'd kill him if he ever bit her kids again. I advised her to teach her kids not to pet--and likely torment--animals they didn't know. Mean old woman. Hrmpf!
He was terrified of plastic bags. Whereas Misty loves them--she licks them, chews on them, lays on them--he would run away at the sound. Once, he'd gotten stuck in the handle of one and just couldn't get out. He started running around in a panic, but it, obviously, just followed him making that constant crinkly noise. Plastic bags were as big a threat, in his world, as vacuum cleaners.