Last year Richie was with us for Christmas and he was a pest. He tore the ribbons off the packages and wanted to be right in the middle of all the festivities. That was his personality. He seemed fearless and he was very demanding. He’d look at me with half closed eyes as if to say, “ya, so what?”
He came to us with a chunk of fur cut out – we never knew why, but he most likely always got himself into trouble. He was very scruffy looking and his curly fur under his neck was all matted and clumpy, but after a while his black fur was smooth and shiny, and the missing fur grew back. Even though he never really enjoyed being brushed, I had to check him for ticks all summer and he brought lots of them in on him. As soon as he’d come in we’d go into the bathroom and I’d brush him and knock the ticks out of the brush into the toilet.
He always wanted to be outside. He was a hunter and killed mice, squirrels and (unfortunately) birds. Chipmunks were his favorite prey. They were fun to play with and kept him amused. Many times they also got away from him and would scurry off into the woods. He loved the chase.
He also loved to go for walks with us. In winter and summer he’d follow my son and I out through the woods at our rental house and run up trees along the way.
He woke me up each night as morning approached by digging at my bed or sitting next to my face. He wanted out. One morning about a month after we had moved I let him and Fontana out like always and then I heard a scuffle and noise in the woods and I knew that something (no doubt a fisher cat) had got a hold of one of the cats. I waited to see which one came back. Richie never did.
We miss him, but for the time he was with us he gave us lots of smiles and we’ll never forget our Richie.
New England's Narrow Road 