Spartacus Jones: Part Two

 I've heard that rescue pets are the sweetest, most grateful and loyal pets you can ever meet. I absolutely believe it. I was pleasantly surprised just how much so.  Spartacus Jones was a perfect example. 

One of my favorite things about him was when I came home from work, no matter how hard my day had been, I could count on Spartacus to greet me at the door with adorable squeaks and chirps. 

I worked for The Old Spaghetti Factory in West Edmonton Mall at the time I'm speaking of. They were good to me, they treated me well, (They even gave me an occasional weekend off--unheard of in the industry!) but...It was an intense job and there was no such thing as an eight hour shift. Everything was made from scratch except for the frozen appetizers, and if we ran out, we stayed and replenished it. I was supposed to be part-time, but I surpassed 40 hours every week.  My boss, my co-workers , they were all great. But I asked for PART-TIME, and I got more hours than I could physically handle.

Sometimes I fantasized about coming home to my cats, but Spartacus in particular. He never failed to be there whatever time I came home, and he would let me pick him up and inhale the scent of his fur. He would purr for me, and give me little kisses. 

I was so exhausted that often I just slept on the couch because I was spent. Spartacus would jump up next to me, and I'd shuffle until he had enough room to cuddle with me.

I don't think he particularly liked being held, but I think he accepted it because I liked to hold him, and he endured it for my sake. I liked to sniff his fur. What did he smell like? He smelled like the wind, clover, and a gentle cat musk. No obnoxious boy spray...A trip in the beginning to the vet told us he was already fixed.

So just in case, we put up a couple of posters. Okay...I put up ONE poster in my neighborhood, but I did put his picture up on all the social media cat finders I could find. And Next Door wasn't a thing back then. No one ever came looking, not once in the years we had him. 

I have so many great memories of him.

I loved how excited he got when he saw me. He'd chirp and run with his eyes fixated on me, bounding like a bunny.

I loved how he'd join me, whatever I was doing, winding himself around my legs and sitting on my feet.

I remember once, I picked him up in the basement. Bad idea, and I also remember Freya had a nasty reaction to it, but I thought Spartacus would be different. Wrong. He calmly turned his head and clamped his mouth over my entire eye socket. It was a warning, and I took it as such. I put him down and we never spoke of it again. 

I loved the game we played. I'd gravel up my voice and yell, "HI!" and he would toss his head like, "Oh it's ON, bitch!" and it was my cue to run so he could chase me.

I even loved how he jumped on the table when guests came so he could sniff their faces. He liked to meet new people, and he'd give them 'The eyes'. He liked human attention. 

In the beginning, he used to fart a lot, because he ate anything. One day a cop came inside to speak to us about stolen goods I found behind our garage. (Someone stuffed seven laptops and a bicycle inner tube behind our garage, and we wanted NO PART of that!) Spartacus leapt up on the kitchen table, sniffed the cop in the eyeball and farted. It smelled distinctly of cat food but also other unpleasant things, like garbage and rodents.. At least it was obvious that it wasn't me. 

"Really Spartacus?" Thankfully, the cop knew a dog that did the same thing, and she just shrugged it off. 

He could be a brat, but it was cute, you know? Paper towel rolls were his favorite. I learned to keep them out of reach, but I also gave him a roll of his own for every birthday. His birthdate, given to him by the vet, was September first. So every birthday, I'd give him a roll of paper towel to destroy. The really CUTE part, is how he always looked to me first. I'd tell him it was for him and to go nuts. Sometimes I recorded it on my phone. 

Sometimes I would fall asleep on the couch, and he would join me. There are photos out there with us cuddled up, my arm around him, his murder mittens tucked in.    Sometimes he would just sleep on me.  

That is, of course, unless Dan sat on the couch with us, putting his feet up and crossing his legs on the coffee table. Well, then...Spartacus would abandon me to sit on his Daddy's legs. It was his favorite spot. I'd pretend to be offended, but in truth, I loved how he really loved both of us. I miss the sound of his purr. 

There was only one thing that bothered me about Spartacus Jones, and that was his appetite. It wasn't bottomless, more like opportunistic. I never saw him walk past the kibble bowl without taking several bites, before and after he received wet food.

I figured that was because of him being an abandoned stray, and he was afraid of going hungry again. But I frequently eat at my desk, and Spartacus would jump on my desk and stare me down until I caved and gave him nibbles. Eggs, chicken bacon, steak, pork, chicken thighs....Once I let him taste my ice cream. It was strawberry, and I had to take it from him because he lapped it up, when I expected him to turn his nose up at it. If I turned my back, he would eat my yogurt, my buttered veggies, ranch dressing, anything. Sometimes I had to remove whatever food I was eating, because he thought if I was eating it, he should have some too. 

It truly bit me in the ass, because I blame that, and myself  on what happened to him. There is a REASON why cats eat cat food and not your food. 

There's going to be a Part Three, and if you're triggered by animal illness and death, don't read it. I still need to write it. It hurts so bad, but it's my therapy, and maybe it will help someone else. 

Part Three about Spartacus Jones will be about loss. If you are sensitive to that kind of thing, p  lease don't read it. It will hurt to write it, but probably therapeutic.