Our little black kitty, Blackberry died last night. He was a delightful little cat and will be sadly missed. He managed to do something that no cat has ever been able to do: purr, cuddle, play and scratch his way into the heart of my husband.
At least 95% of the photos I took of him look something like this one.
Unless he was asleep, he was always moving, a little black blur of energy. He had this thing about attacking your feet, or your hand, or whatever was close by and moving and available to attack. He was just playing, but the claws and teeth were real!
When he was asleep he was completely adorable and oh, so snuggly.
In the last few weeks he had been sick with a respiratory tract infection. My husband, who has in the past said in no uncertain terms that no animal that poops and pees will be let into the house, brought him into the house to keep him out of the cold, and patiently litter trained him.
He quickly made friends with the big stray, Mittens. (Mittens by the way, has not been seen lately, not sure what has happened to him.)
And he tried to make friends with Nemo, who would have nothing to do with friendship. (Nemo is most definitely a loner.) Here he is begging to be played with. In spite of Blackberry's best efforts, Nemo can't be persuaded.
He loved to survey the world from on top a shoulder...
or even better, from on top his favorite perch, the tractor seat.
He loved tractor rides, too.
When he was a lonely little kitty, newly separated from his mother and brothers and sisters, he looked for playmates in the chicken. Even when he was a tiny wobbly kitten they were afraid of him.
He quickly learned that it was fun to chase and harass the hens and spent hours chasing them. Sometimes he would manage to catch one and pin it to ground.
He was a master at hide and seek, and was talented at getting himself locked up accidentally . We locked in the chicken coop several times, and was locked in my car overnight. Once he was locked in the workshop for two days while we searched high and low for him.
Blackberry on the day we brought him home. He got his name from his sharp little claws. He was sweet and snuggly, but definitely prickly, too.
Farewell, Blackberry, you will be missed. 
Unless he was asleep, he was always moving, a little black blur of energy. He had this thing about attacking your feet, or your hand, or whatever was close by and moving and available to attack. He was just playing, but the claws and teeth were real!
In the last few weeks he had been sick with a respiratory tract infection. My husband, who has in the past said in no uncertain terms that no animal that poops and pees will be let into the house, brought him into the house to keep him out of the cold, and patiently litter trained him.
He loved to survey the world from on top a shoulder...
or even better, from on top his favorite perch, the tractor seat.
He loved tractor rides, too.
Farewell, Blackberry, you will be missed. 
