But, by gum, Moubebe deserves an Ode.
Moubebe was the best cat. I know everyone says this and I'm sure the others were really great. This is actually all about me.
She started off Moushti which, the long story long, is from when my friend Jason and I used to say OOUUUSSSHHHT when squeezing one another and ousht was the sound of Love. It was mousht when one needed more love. So the continuation of this when I got a bedraggled feline from the streets, was Moushti. Which kind of sounds like musty or if you're my puerile minded brother mouche-bag.
It evolved, as everything in my vernacular does, to just Mou, then Moubébé because she was clearly French. Then Moubébé Princess as only Royalty has the cojones to be stupefied at not immediately getting one's way the way she was. Not mad, genuinely bewildered at your lack of capacity to understand what she wants. Is this anthropomorphism? No. Moubebe was who she was.
Moubebe came to me as a literal thief in the night. I had dinner plans with friends of mine who were leaving the country as one of them had won a competition to do a one-year architecture internship in the Canary Islands. Yes, I only truck with the muckity-mucks. Anyhoo, they had their own cat they managed to re-home for the year as there was a 6 month quarantine process in place both coming and going from the Island.
Moubebe, being a literal street rat, took advantage of an open door and snuck into their apartment but being of the 2lb range was able to squeeze behind their bookcase thus making her reunion with the streets impossible.
I sat down to enjoy their scintillating company, fruits of the wine, various greens, and dinner. At one point something, that looked like poorly done taxidermy, jumped into my lap. She was awful.
Clearly not having maintained good nutrition, she was thin. This also resulted in old cat fur, the kind that is both greasy and dandruff-y. She was disgusting to touch since I wasn't sure she was an incubator for heretofore unheard of diseases, and I could feel every single one of her bones with skin stretched too thin. Also, really noise-y with a creaky squeak. Not being a total dick I didn't shove her to the ground but made polite inquiries if it could be removed. My really attractive hosts were delighted not to have the intruder behind a giant bookcase and that she has 'picked' me. I was vehement that she chose nothing and I would be leaving sans a clearly in need of several hundred vet dollars urchin.
However, the gods of wine and cheeba conspired to convince my friends that I DID want that thing to come with me. They packed her into a cat carrier and me out the door slipping the handle into my hand just before the door clicked into place. Being of not the sober-est mind, it didn't occur to me to knock on their door nor to abandon her so home we went.
I actually had forgotten the events of the evening until a broken bike horn interrupted my slumber and tiny lacerations were starting to be noticeable on my face. It was the kitten from last night, coyote ugly style. Only there was no awkward clothing shuffle as a guest was politely excused. Side eyes and utterances of, "you're gross" didn't deter the amount nor volume of her communication.
She was bundled off to the vet for the aforementioned hundreds of dollars in vet bills, including an abortion for no longer viable litter she had. She lived hard, that girl, in the few months she was an alley queen. However, once done she started to gain weight, for her, she never got larger/heavier than six whole pounds. We carried on our merry twosome way.
We lived together for a year before I got itchy feet and wanted to move to the West Coast. I gave up my apartment, moved us into my parents for three weeks before boarding a plane for Vancouver. We moved 4 times in six years and she never minded. She would do a typical belly low to the ground cautious tour of the apartment and boxes before coming to crouch by where I was and then finding a place not far off to sprawl out.
She loathed all other animals and I can't help but wonder if it's Hojo's fault. Not the hotel chain, our dog. Who was found at the hotel chain. We're creative. She was still pretty friendly when we had our three-week stint at my parents before heading West. She tried to befriend the dog who was knocking on Methuselah's door when we were there but he would lift a paw at the exact moment she would be in full back arch and lean to rub up against him and she would end up on the floor. Which, in itself, was pretty surprising as Hojo literally was the definition of chill. Except for my brother's childhood friend Randy who I always wondered if he would grow up to be a serial killer as he was essentially the only person Hojo would rouse himself from his usual doorstop position to turn into a frothing Cujo. Bizarre. Also, note to self, look up Randy.
Anyhoo, Moubebe was a proverbial lone wolf. Never did she act out when I did abandon her for 4 - 5 day adventures. I'd leave her extra everything and bowls filled with ice and then come back to her being all, "You again, eh? Well, welcome back! I will take this amount of loving and some treats and then hover around you."
I took a million photos of Moubebe (You : duh) and while I am prone to hyperbole, I think over the course of 13 years, that number isn't so wild. I also spent hours every month deleting 80% of the exact same photo. She was photogenic as hell, not just because I say so, people agreed. Her eyeballs were golden opals, flashing with fire. She was savvy with her insouciance. She only shredded items when I wasn't home. She knew, SHE KNEW, the things that would upset me so would be flagrantly rude until I got home and then would be extra loving. Not always a red flag which is how she perpetually lulled me into slavish complacency. I was her staff, without complaint. It was my pleasure to make her happy. How she communicated to me where she preferred the pink fuzzy blanket and that she liked water best on windowsills, I do not know. But I did know, and I did it.
Part of the lore of Moubebe would include the month we cat sat for my best friend (forever). Ophelia was more than persona non grata. She was the Pablo Escobar to Moubebe's DEA. And taking Ophelia down was all Moubebe could think about. People actually felt nervous when in between Oph and Mou, it wasn't often to them in the same room, as Moubebe practically vibrated with a murderous intensity. Poor Ophelia, while no pushover, was simply not a street fighter and Moubebe could have been the Crips go to assassin, there was little mercy in her soul. Her eyes were stuck in permanent dilation the entire month and ever fixed on her target. It was exhausting. When it was over, Moubebe gave me the cold shoulder for a whole hour to let me know she was not happy. I'm not sure whether over the visit itself or for never having accomplished her goal.
Of course, Moubebe got cancer. While I railed at myself for not taking her sooner to the vet, I would have been crazy enough to sign her up for the complicated and dangerous surgery and rounds of chemo had I caught it earlier, which wouldn't have been good for either of us.
I have since invited two more furry individuals into my life. I didn't think I was ready but then my friend Tiff sent me a picture of Khloé, who had lost her human momma three months earlier and was being beaten up by the three sibling felines she was adopted by. I tried for one whole hour to say no, I'm not ready. Then I called to meet Khloé and we were two. I knew I wanted to have two cats as I am a nomad at heart and needed Khloé to have company I might not necessarily provide. Enter, Deathspike from Toronto Cat Rescue. I forgot how aggravating a kitten could be. He makes me laugh at his bumbling toddler ways and Khloé is being less cagey with me which feels like winning. She's full of love if I am on the couch or the kitchen carpet, dubious anywhere else in the apartment. Our team vibe is being fleshed out. Right now, the two of them are no Moubebe. I miss her every day even three months later but we'll figure it out and I'm glad they're with me.
To borrow from my Scottish people, 'Wha's like us? Damn few and they're a'died."
A haiku:
Larger than legend
Warrior in Valhalla
We will meet again
xo
