Georgina Walker Weir died on Saturday. She was 14.
George was the first kitten Marcus and I ever adopted as a couple. She was just 10 weeks old when we met her and her siblings at the local humane society. The litter was named after famous artists and she was called Cezanne. While it was difficult to choose just one, the wee black kitten with a small white spot on her chest quickly won our hearts.
Before we could leave the building with our new furry girl, another cat stopped us. Brigid was a 1-year-old stray, skinny as a supermodel and a bit scraggly around the edges. She implored us to adopt her too and so we did. The moment Brigid and George met, they instantly bonded, mostly in a mother/daughter fashion. The two them would remain close until we lost Brigid in 2020, also at the age of 14.
George was a rambunctious kitten, the sort who liked to explore, pounce, attack, wrestle and zoom. She was also the first cat I’ve ever had who liked to play fetch. We’d wad up a square of aluminum foil and toss it across the room. She’d run after it, bite down on the silvery ball and bring it back for more. She liked the way it bounced on the tile and wood floors and the texture of it against her teeth. At one point, we moved the living room couch and found dozens of those little balls hidden underneath. When she had finally exhausted all of her energy, George would fall asleep on my chest. I sense she was comforted by my warmth and steady heartbeat.
Over time, George grew into a big, beautiful cat with bright green eyes. She liked climbing on condos, watching the birds through the window, munching on catnip, rose petals or tuna and rubbing her face against hardcover books (especially plastic-covered library books). Not much of a cuddler, she would from time to time hop onto chair arms for pets or lie on our legs, especially if we used a blanket to create a hammock for her. When I was really lucky, she’d rest on my chest and purr, just like she did when she was young.
Although she loved hanging out with Brigid, George wasn’t particularly fond of the other animals living in our home. In fact, she developed a reputation as a bit of a bully because she liked to sneak-attack Dany and Autumn, both of whom where older than her and had quieter dispositions. Of course once we adopted the litter of kittens in 2017, George received a lesson in karma, particularly when Treacle began sneak-attacking her.
Because George was our first baby, and the first of many black cats we’d eventually adopt, Marcus and I often made exceptions to our house rules just for her. Unlike the other kitties, she was occasionally allowed into our bedroom, where she could curl up on the bed or on top of us while we slept. If M wasn’t around to see, I’d also open the door to the bedroom’s ensuite and George would saunter down the forbidden hallway, hop on the bench in the bathroom and receive booty-scritches.
Once we lost Brigid, George turned inward. She preferred spending long stretches of time alone, either lying in sunspots or sleeping in her heated crates and condos. However, until she became too old and weak to do so, she’d still come downstairs at 3 a.m. to receive treats with the rest of the brood or to sleep in the suitcase next to me while I worked overnight.
More recently, George was granted daily access to M’s cat-free office. The room would eventually include two heating mats, a variety of toys, a litter box, a small condo and special food brought in every day via a tray (a.k.a. room service). Since he works from home full-time, M and George bonded deeply during the last year of her life.
There will never be another cat like her. We miss her so much already.
