R.I.P., Cleo

Cleo Boyer
October 1995 – June 28, 2009

The smallest feline is a masterpiece. –Leonardo Da Vinci

There are no ordinary cats. –Colette

Who among us hasn’t envied a cat’s ability to ignore the cares of daily life and to relax completely? –Karen Brademeyer

... even out of unspeakable grief, beautiful things take wing. –AR Torres, “The Lessons of Loss”

My mom adopted Cleo in June 1996, after she was found hiding under a car in my sister’s apartment complex’s parking lot in Hershey. She was six months old, pregnant, and had herpes—not off to the greatest start in life. Thankfully things got much better once she became a truly beloved member of our family.

She inspired me to adopt my own cats, Plath and Shoah, one year later. When I saw them—all fluffy and striped and wonderful—I squealed, “That must be what Cleo looked like as a kitten!” That’s why I chose them: because they were gray mackerel tabbies just like Cleo, so therefore they must have been awesome cats. And they were.

Cleo was an awesome cat, too. She was incredibly laidback and mellow; she knew how to rock the “Whatever, dude” attitude more than any other cat I’ve met. She was unflappable. She loved lying on the self-heating pad Mom kept in her home office, curling up next to Mom and Bill on the sofa, planting herself in front of the fireplace, Catsip milk, bonito fish flakes, and begging for treats. There’s now a Cleo-shaped hole in our family’s life and she will be missed. Much.

Rest in peace, Cleo! I hope you, Benny, Shoah, and Pepper are all together now, happy and secure, in pet heaven.

Cleo and her sister Gabby.

Cleo hanging out with young Shoah, 1997.

song heard most recently before posting:
Vocalise, Op. 34, No. 14—Sergei Rachmaninov