I regret to inform you that our beloved Camo Cat has passed into eternity. Instead of flowers, please remember him by eating corn on the cob in his honor.
I first met Camo Cat on accident. I had been living in my apartment for over six months and noticed some strange sounds during my regular disco nap after work. It turns out that Camo Cat had been coming in through my window on a daily basis, but hiding when he heard me come home until the coast was clear to make his mad escape by jumping back out the tiny window.
One chilly day, I came home and closed this window and retired for my afternoon sleep. I was wakened by a loud thump- the noise of Camo Cat's head making contact with the window frame when he tried to leap to his usual exit. I opened the door and he fled in panic as if I were chasing him with a broom.
Camo Cat continued to use my apartment as his day spa for a long time, without ever letting me near him. Then one day marked a monumental step forward in becoming friends. Camo was asleep in his favorite chair when I came home. He was so sound asleep, in fact, that he didn't wake up when I opened the door. I crept close and seized the opportunity to pet him.
With sleep still in his eyes he rubbed his head back against my hand, yawned, and stretched. After about 15 seconds of this, he realized what was happening. His eyes shot open in recognition of exactly who was petting him and where he was. He shot out of the apartment like a rabbit running for its hole.
But that fateful day marked the turning point in our relationship. There were other times I pet him until he woke up, but then he only acted annoyed and left rather than running away. He eventually let me pet him if he was outdoors, then inside my apartment.
All of this took place during the first two years I knew him. There were other moments in our friendship that may seem insignificant to you but were each important milestones to Camo Cat and I: when he first didn't leave when I came home; when he didn't get off the couch when I sat on the other end of it; the first time he got up on the couch when I was already on it. These tiny events were spaced throughout the next four years. Camo Cat was in no rush to get to know me.
During the same time, I came to learn what Camo's needs were and how to best serve them. He would rub up against my leg, never out of affection, but to tell me he wanted something. Sometimes this was to indicate he wanted the window open, sometimes because he wanted water, and sometimes just to tell me to get the fuck out of his favorite chair.
Long-time readers of Camper's Log will remember Camo's love for corn. Love, I think, is too weak a word for what he felt about corn. It was more like all-consuming maniacal blood lust for corn. He could make a terrifying growling noise if ever I made it in the house. Then he would rub against my leg, but he didn't have patience for the nice approach for long. He would try to trip me if I walked anywhere with a bowl of corn, presumably so I would fall and hit my head and he could lick the corn off my cold, dead body. Then he would resort to violence- letting out a blood-curtailing howl then actually drawing blood by clawing at my legs through my jeans.
His owner Surina told me that once he came home all freaked out and growling, with a full ear of corn in his mouth that he must have stolen from someone's barbecue. How did she figure that out? There was a pat of butter on the corn that hadn't even melted yet.
Many creatures have a zealous lust for life. Camo Cat had an unquenchable lust for corn.
Sadly, Camo developed cancer. He hadn't been around much in recent weeks, and when he did he was lethargic. Near the end Surina brought him outside to get some sun and for a little visit with me. I pet him a last time and scratched behind his ears like he likes it. A few days later, he passed away in the night.
Our relationship took eight years to develop into a true friendship. I'll miss his daily visits, his gruff attitude, and the way he matches everything in my apartment. My life will be a little bit lonelier without him in it, but I know I'll think of him at this same time every year. He died during the season when the small grocery stores put out boxes stacked high with fresh corn on the cob for sale, reminding me of the cat, my friend, who loved it more than anything else in the world.