Maxwell Gibson, aka “Gibby”, succumbed to old age yesterday. He was 19. Katie got him when he was a tiny kitten and still had what she calls “teddy bear ears”. Her brother Kurt saw someone throw a sack out of the window of a moving truck at the intersection of Maxwell Street and Gibson Boulevard here in Albuquerque. When he investigated he found that it was full of kittens. Gibby was the only one who survived. Kurt brought him to Katie, who took him to the vet, who said that it was unlikely that he would survive the night.
Katie brought him home and made him comfortable anyway. He was full of mats and had fleas, so she cleaned him up. He was too young to be away from his mother, so Katie fed him with an eye dropper. His right eye was messed up from being thrown out of a moving vehicle and landing on his head, but he could see. He had a permanent squint for the rest of his life, and couldn’t fully open or close that eye.
Gibson was a shy cat, and wasn’t comfortable around people he didn’t know. Katie was surprised, and pleased, that he immediately took to me. He was my little buddy, and spent a lot of time on my lap. He was the only cat allowed to be up on the kitchen table, where he’d grab a patch of sunshine to warm his old bones. We got to be cranky old men together.
Katie’s going to miss him terribly, because he’s been in her life for two decades and she’s had him since he was nothing but fluff and attitude. Even though I’ve only known him for a few years, and met him when he was a skinny collection of fur and bones, I’m going to miss him fiercely myself. He was my friend.
Good night, old man. Sleep well.