It has now been officially ten days since we last saw Colonel Mustard or Bandit. Faith is giving it until the end of this month until she gives up. I am, for the most part, trying not to think too much about them. We have never had such bad luck with cats before.
Mustard was the King of Cats. You could hear him purr from across the room, and he was poetry in motion to watch. He probably weighed in at close to twenty pounds, and was absolutely graceful. We have had him (and his brother, Piewacket) for ten years. Our home will never be quite the same without him. Neither will Kendall, for he belonged to Mustard.
Bandit was the amazing foldable kitty. You could just scoop him up in your arms and he would conform to whatever shape you were carrying him in. And he would go anywhere you took him, happily. He was delightful to watch, as he chased butterflies in our grass, or stalked bumblebees in our woods. He loved to play, because he was, after all, still just a kitten, at eighteen months old. I have known and loved many cats. He was by far the ‘coolest’ cat we’ve ever had. Faith will never want another cat.