The Honest Courtesan

Our outside cat, Rocky, died early Sunday morning; when I went out the back door about nine he was lying on the mat, and though he was cold he was not stiff.  He’d been very thin for some time, but was still active and happy, and killed at least two rats in the past week that I know of; it’s possible such a fight may have contributed to his demise because there were signs of some kind of scuffle on both his body and in the area.  He was native to Sunset; when we first started moving here in the summer of 2017 he was already here, though fairly young.  And though he wanted more than anything else to be an inside cat (and viewed any open door as an invitation), unfortunately he had never learned to use a litterbox and steadfastly resisted all attempts to train him over the past several years.  At first, that wasn’t really a problem because he simply did his business outside somewhere, but once the atrium roof and walls went up in ’22 he started spending most of his time in the atrium, and over the past two years he started leaving his poop in places I found inconvenient, which meant I had to get toilet paper and pick it up at least twice a day.  And though I swore at him and kept trying (without success) to encourage him to use the litterbox, I wasn’t going to banish him from the atrium because I guess I’m a softie where animals are concerned.  So he’s now buried in our little pet cemetery alongside Annie, Aeryn, and Jae’s cat Max, and I’m going to miss the little guy despite his bad habits.