Carolyn Holm

As we sadly reported last week, our dear old friend and senior cat passed away on May 7, age sixteen, after a difficult decline – first with the onset of diabetes, and then with a nasty tumor in his cheek. One year ago he weighed fourteen pounds. At the end of his journey he weighed only eight pounds, weak and barely chatty.

Still our guy remained relatively cheerful. He seemed to appreciate the things we did to make things easier. Like moving the litterbox from a location involving stairs, to a bathroom just down the hall. Raising the thermostat so he could get some extra heat. And allowing him to move into Poppy’s living room bed, so he didn’t need to jump or climb up to the cat beds. Poppy had mixed feelings about this, but she accepted it, and they even shared the bed on occasion, both curled up and sound asleep together. They knew they were pack mates.

Most of our readers have no idea what Puffin was like as a kitten. He was the wildest, most destructive youngster of any species that we had ever known. He destroyed two phone chargers and a laptop charger. He chewed through shoe laces and chewed on houseplants. He went up the Christmas tree, and he took out a five-foot Ficus tree, bringing the whole planter down, so there was dirt everywhere. Some of his antics got expensive. I don’t know anyone else who had to run to the emergency vet at 11:00PM on a Sunday night because their cat ate a needle and thread. He was determined to snag our goldfish, his batting paw immersed up to his shoulder in the fish tank. The day finally came when we got home to find the tank’s plants on the kitchen floor, surrounding the very sad-looking dead goldfish. Toilets were another fascinating water feature. (Aren’t cats supposed to be water averse?) When he heard a toilet flush he came running. He wanted to “catch” whatever he saw in the swirling water. (Yes, that too.)

How did this wild rascal become such a staid gentleman when he grew up? This chaotic creature become the guy who insisted upon The Schedule. And how did we know he was French? On one hand, his actual origins were far from posh. When he was a tiny kitten he was plucked from the gutter in LA’s South Central, covered with fleas and sporting a gut full of parasites. Not the elegant cat we have come to know and love. But, French? Well, on the other hand, Los Angeles historically had an active French community. So who knows. 

Meanwhile Puffin was a very chatty cat. He had something to say about everything. And he always greeted us with a polite meow when he walked into the room. It was so much like the lovely habit the French have of entering a shop saying “Bonjour, Madame” that we looked at each other and said “He is so French.” He made that even more apparent with his appreciation of order. One needed to do things correctly. He’s the guy who would have looked at a cheese platter and remark that it had the wrong Camembert. (My apologies to those who are actually French.)

We all know that M. Le Poufin lived for food. We got an automatic feeder for his breakfast, because he insisted on waking us at 5:30 in the morning. And we had a lot of drama about the rest of the dining arrangements. Because Puffin kept stealing Winston’s food, we had to get microchip feeders, that only opened for the programmed chip. Undeterred, he started trying to break into Winston’s, and finally wrestled it off the cabinet where the cats had their meals, sending it crashing to the floor. When that feeder was replaced, we duct-taped the new one to a heavy marble tile that couldn’t be budged off the cabinet. 

Puffin’s automatic feeder is now retired, and his fancy food has been given away. His ”prey” on a wand is still lying on the fireplace mantle (everyone keeps cat toys on their mantle, right?) ready for the evening games that are now finished because Winston doesn’t understand the point of it. And now our Puffin lies buried between a rose bush and a hydrangea. And we miss him dearly. 

So we’ll send him off now with a classic Puffin post, “The Birder” from May 14, 2021.

Cher Madame,
There is a book on the windowsill that is all about les snacks. Why does Madame require this book?
Regards, M. Le Poufin

Dear Puffin,
I don’t know of any such book, sweetie.
Love, Carolyn

Cher Madame,
Mais oui, Madame has opened the book many times and exclaimed over the snacks there. 
Regards, M. Le Poufin

Dear Puffin,
I am completely mystified.
Love, Carolyn

Cher Madame,
And yet Madame does not herself eat these delectable snacks.
Regards, M. Le Poufin

Dear Puffin,
I wish I knew what is going on in your little head.
Love, Carolyn

Cher Madame,
Toujours le sarcasm. Mais this petit cat knows of the Chickadees, Les House Finches, Les Towhees, Les Blue Jays, tous les birds that Madame exclaims over.
Regards, M. Le Poufin

Dear Puffin,
The bird book? You are talking about the BIRD BOOK? Dear god, Puffin. Snacks? Really?
Love, Carolyn

Cher Madame,
This pauvre petit cat must watch them through the window, while they cavort around the feeder. Like they are having a big party. Et moi, I am on le diet and not allowed outside to snag a bird or two. Or three.
Regards, M. Le Poufin

Dear Puffin,
I’m sure you would catch them if you were outside. You would be a competent birder. But it’s not going to happen.
Love, Carolyn

Cher Madame,
This petit cat once caught and devoured a Chickadee. C’était heavenly.
Regards, M. Le Poufin

Dear Puffin,
I remember that incident. The poor bird came in through an open window. I found feathers everywhere, and then the little curled feet. You ate pretty much everything else. What a grisly meal.
Love, Carolyn

Cher Madame,
Il faut dire, we cats do not comment upon Madame’s strange eating habits. Disgusting foods like the cucumber. Les tomatoes. Worst of all, l’orange.
Regards, M. Le Poufin

Dear Puffin,
I hate to admit it but you have a point. I was rude to call it grisly. It is simply a different culinary tradition. 
Love, Carolyn

Cher Madame,
May I also point out to Madame that in France songbirds are considered a delicacy.
Regards, M. Le Poufin

Dear Puffin,
But not chewed up raw on my carpet.
Love, Carolyn

Cher Madame,
Toujours le sarcasm.
Regards, M. Le Poufin

Adieu Puffin!
With love, Carolyn

Special thanks to Cathie Raub who took such good care of Puffin at the end when I had to be away.