Fitch has been dead a week and I've got NuFitch (he'll be just plain Fitch, as well, but I'm using the soap opera newsgroup convention to distinguish the casting change, for now) coming next week. I'm not really as heartless as that would indicate. After all, it took nearly two years to get any cat at all after Gummitch and Tanith died. However, even beyond the name, Abercrombie needs company. She cried all night the first night home, and is always looking around. She misses Fitch, even if she doesn't know what exactly it is she wants. She follows me around, demanding to be petted, to be played with, to be loved. She even has picked fights with the dog just for the thrill of it. We also need two cats to gang up on Sailor.

Here are my memories of Fitch.

There were two times the cat could be guaranteed to purr so loudly he could be heard in the next room: when he was eating, and when he was being attacked by the dog. He was truly a pig, sticking his head so far in the bowl Crombie didn't have a chance. I thought I'd outfoxed him once the Kit Mahal was built, and I put food in the tray and spread it out so both kittens could get to it. Fitch was not outfoxed, however. He lay down on all the food, lengthwise in the tray, and ate away.

When he first came, Sailor thought he was a squeak toy, and went to pick him up. Indeed Fitch did squeak. We kept them separated till the kittens were big enough to defend themselves, and finally, last week, let them loose together. Fitch the Fearless, however, was always at the dog, attacking him. When Sailor tried to defend himself, Fitch would start up with the purr. I referred to him as a masocat. I mentioned the time last week when he cuddled up to a bemused Sailor, purring and purring.

Crombie was(and is) my cat, Fitch everyone's cat. He went up to anyone and climbed into their lap. He was Rich's favorite but I wouldn't admit he was mine, as well. I liked them both in different ways. Still, it's easier to enjoy a fearless friendly kitten than a scared-y cat. (Crombie has gotten less fearful this week.)

Fitch loved paper bags and the laser pen, and if we put the two together he went totally wild. Last Thursday night he was chasing that irritating red dot in circles, and didn't want to stop. He also went totally gaga if there was something under the bedclothes. He'd pounce on it and kill it, and get wilder and wilder as the toes moved.

He would lurk and jump out at us, or Sailor, or Crombie by standing on his hind legs with his front legs spread wide. "I am Fitch the Fierce, fear me!" (Crombie's choice of ferocious stance is the arch with the puffed-puffed out hair.)

Fitch was still tiny when he climbed into the microwave stand and into a casserole dish (I took these pictures and uploaded them, but took them off the site when he died.) I called it a catserole. Crombie still hasn't made it up there.

He loved the Kit Mahal and dashed all over it. He would launch himself out the window and across all the people and furniture and dogs in his way. Then it was back up the pole and king of the hill on the high ledge. He and Crombie ran up and down the hall, and all over the furniture, and back and forth.

Then after all this activity he'd be tired, and would curl up and sleep. Crombie, on the other hand, tosses and turns and fidgets and kneads and wiggles. They usually slept together.

I'll miss him very much. When Rich told me, I kept hoping it was a mistake, not really true. We only had him 6 weeks, but we'll never forget him.