I love this photo of Munchie.
Munchie (officially, Munchkin – because he was as small as a doughnut hole when I got him) is the only cat I’ve ever gotten as a kitten. The Corner Bookstore, which at one time was actually located at the corner of two streets, but by this time was in the Stop & Shop center and not exactly on a corner anymore, had a lady working there who would bring shelter cats in and keep their cages by cash register. It was brilliant, really. I mean, cats and books just go together. My mom was at the bookstore and, knowing I had a “thing” for orange cats, called to tell me there was a kitten there I should see. I didn’t have to take him home, she said. I could just look. Right.
I don’t know exactly how old he was, but he was small enough to fit in my coat pocket and that’s how I carried him home. He was adorable.
Munchie was very nearly the perfect cat. He loved Lance, my dog. He got along with the other cats. He ate bugs. He rarely got sick. He was quiet and sweet, and I can’t remember him ever scratching or biting me. Ever.
When I lived in Winsted, he was allowed to go outside. He loved that. I’d give a long, high-pitched call of “Mun-cheee-eee!” and he’d come running, tail high and straight. Most cats will rub along your leg to let you know they love you. Munch would come alongside your leg and not actually touch until… thump! his backside would bump you.
Munchie was my bathtub cat. He’d drink the hot water out of my tub while the water ran. (He loved to drink running water from the bathroom sink, too – a penchant he taught to his “brother,” Morgan.) While I took my bath and read a book, Munch would walk around the edge of the tub til he found a ‘spot’ and would stretch out, so I could pet him while I read.
Munch fell in love with Wes and decided Wes had the best lap to sleep in. As soon as Wes would sit down, Munchie came running to claim his spot. Wes called him The Bat Faced Kitty. The only thing Munchie didn’t like about life after Wes & I got married was that he was no longer allowed to go outside. Cars drive too quickly past our house. There are also lots of dangerous-to-cat animals living around here, like foxes, coyotes and bears. Munchie was NOT happy about it, though, and ripped through a window screen more than once to get outside. Each time he did, I’d fret all night, and then call out for him the next morning. He’d hear “Mun-cheee-eee!” – and come running through the yard, stopping right before the door to walk in calmly, looking at me as if to say, “I told you I’d be fine.”
He came to me as a kitten and died of old age. A pretty perfect life for a pretty perfect feline.