We found her outside of the old parsonage at the Methodist Church here in town, a little, starving speck of gray, crying the way they do when they're so hungry. Of course we took her home and fed her, and when inquiries turned up nobody who claimed her, she became part of our home and family - which was well, for she had already laid claim to our hearts. My husband named her Bosco.
I've never known a sweeter natured kitty in my life. An absolute dear, full of love and fun! Bosco never met a stranger. Convinced that everybody came just to see her, Bosco greeted everybody who came by, be it family, friend, or a repairman. Nor could they ignore her, for she would hop up into laps, onto tables, or rear up on a leg, meowing loudly, until she got her share of attention. Petting Bosco was rewarded with one of the most musical purrs imaginable, a sweet trill.
Over the years, the mantle of "Boss Cat" fell to our Bosco, an office she held with an iron paw. Let any of our other kitties not behave to suit her, she let them know it with her repertoire of howls and spits, guaranteed to let the biggest tomcat know not to mess with our little girl. Of course, her people had to also be kept an eye on, making sure we did right. She would show up beside the kitty dishes about a half-hour before mealtimes, and if no food was forthcoming at the proper time, she'd call at the top of her little lungs, letting the humans know it was time to eat. After supper, she had to have her goody, favorites being chicken breast, hamburger steak, catfish, and kipper snacks. It was fortunate she was a very active baby, for with her appetite, our Bosco would have never kept her girlish figure without the zips to run the calories off.
Despite her bossiness, our Bosco was so full of love, and never given to bad behavior, like sharpening her claws where she knew she shouldn't, or getting up on the kitchen counter. She was a lap cat, and she was especially tuned into our moods. Let one of us feel a little blue, and my husband or I would have a little purring bundle of love in the lap, rubbing her head on a hand, as if to say "it'll be all right. I'm here, and I love you."
Early last spring our Bosco began a slow decline that lasted several months. For very nearly all of that time, though she got gradually scrawnier and slower, she had a good appetite, if sleeping more still showed an interest in everything and everybody, and got around all right, so we just kept a careful eye on her and took her to the Vet when medicine was needed. But the day came when she didn't want to eat or drink, and wasn't following either of us about the house. She began to hurt, and that cry told us it was time for our baby Bosco to go over the Rainbow Bridge. She rode in my lap for that one last ride to the Vet, and now lays under our pine trees in the back yard, with her old friends Petunia and Knothead.
Dearest sweet Bosco, we know there is a special place in Heaven for you and all the other kitties.
A cat is pure love!
I've never known a sweeter natured kitty in my life. An absolute dear, full of love and fun! Bosco never met a stranger. Convinced that everybody came just to see her, Bosco greeted everybody who came by, be it family, friend, or a repairman. Nor could they ignore her, for she would hop up into laps, onto tables, or rear up on a leg, meowing loudly, until she got her share of attention. Petting Bosco was rewarded with one of the most musical purrs imaginable, a sweet trill.
Over the years, the mantle of "Boss Cat" fell to our Bosco, an office she held with an iron paw. Let any of our other kitties not behave to suit her, she let them know it with her repertoire of howls and spits, guaranteed to let the biggest tomcat know not to mess with our little girl. Of course, her people had to also be kept an eye on, making sure we did right. She would show up beside the kitty dishes about a half-hour before mealtimes, and if no food was forthcoming at the proper time, she'd call at the top of her little lungs, letting the humans know it was time to eat. After supper, she had to have her goody, favorites being chicken breast, hamburger steak, catfish, and kipper snacks. It was fortunate she was a very active baby, for with her appetite, our Bosco would have never kept her girlish figure without the zips to run the calories off.
Despite her bossiness, our Bosco was so full of love, and never given to bad behavior, like sharpening her claws where she knew she shouldn't, or getting up on the kitchen counter. She was a lap cat, and she was especially tuned into our moods. Let one of us feel a little blue, and my husband or I would have a little purring bundle of love in the lap, rubbing her head on a hand, as if to say "it'll be all right. I'm here, and I love you."
Early last spring our Bosco began a slow decline that lasted several months. For very nearly all of that time, though she got gradually scrawnier and slower, she had a good appetite, if sleeping more still showed an interest in everything and everybody, and got around all right, so we just kept a careful eye on her and took her to the Vet when medicine was needed. But the day came when she didn't want to eat or drink, and wasn't following either of us about the house. She began to hurt, and that cry told us it was time for our baby Bosco to go over the Rainbow Bridge. She rode in my lap for that one last ride to the Vet, and now lays under our pine trees in the back yard, with her old friends Petunia and Knothead.
Dearest sweet Bosco, we know there is a special place in Heaven for you and all the other kitties.
A cat is pure love!
We found her outside of the old parsonage at the Methodist Church here in town, a little, starving speck of gray, crying the way they do when they're so hungry. Of course we took her home and fed her, and when inquiries turned up nobody who claimed her, she became part of our home and family - which was well, for she had already laid claim to our hearts. My husband named her Bosco.
I've never known a sweeter natured kitty in my life. An absolute dear, full of love and fun! Bosco never met a stranger. Convinced that everybody came just to see her, Bosco greeted everybody who came by, be it family, friend, or a repairman. Nor could they ignore her, for she would hop up into laps, onto tables, or rear up on a leg, meowing loudly, until she got her share of attention. Petting Bosco was rewarded with one of the most musical purrs imaginable, a sweet trill.
Over the years, the mantle of "Boss Cat" fell to our Bosco, an office she held with an iron paw. Let any of our other kitties not behave to suit her, she let them know it with her repertoire of howls and spits, guaranteed to let the biggest tomcat know not to mess with our little girl. Of course, her people had to also be kept an eye on, making sure we did right. She would show up beside the kitty dishes about a half-hour before mealtimes, and if no food was forthcoming at the proper time, she'd call at the top of her little lungs, letting the humans know it was time to eat. After supper, she had to have her goody, favorites being chicken breast, hamburger steak, catfish, and kipper snacks. It was fortunate she was a very active baby, for with her appetite, our Bosco would have never kept her girlish figure without the zips to run the calories off.
Despite her bossiness, our Bosco was so full of love, and never given to bad behavior, like sharpening her claws where she knew she shouldn't, or getting up on the kitchen counter. She was a lap cat, and she was especially tuned into our moods. Let one of us feel a little blue, and my husband or I would have a little purring bundle of love in the lap, rubbing her head on a hand, as if to say "it'll be all right. I'm here, and I love you."
Early last spring our Bosco began a slow decline that lasted several months. For very nearly all of that time, though she got gradually scrawnier and slower, she had a good appetite, if sleeping more still showed an interest in everything and everybody, and got around all right, so we just kept a careful eye on her and took her to the Vet when medicine was needed. But the day came when she didn't want to eat or drink, and wasn't following either of us about the house. She began to hurt, and that cry told us it was time for our baby Bosco to go over the Rainbow Bridge. She rode in my lap for that one last ride to the Vet, and now lays under our pine trees in the back yard, with her old friends Petunia and Knothead.
Dearest sweet Bosco, we know there is a special place in Heaven for you and all the other kitties.
A cat is pure love!
I've never known a sweeter natured kitty in my life. An absolute dear, full of love and fun! Bosco never met a stranger. Convinced that everybody came just to see her, Bosco greeted everybody who came by, be it family, friend, or a repairman. Nor could they ignore her, for she would hop up into laps, onto tables, or rear up on a leg, meowing loudly, until she got her share of attention. Petting Bosco was rewarded with one of the most musical purrs imaginable, a sweet trill.
Over the years, the mantle of "Boss Cat" fell to our Bosco, an office she held with an iron paw. Let any of our other kitties not behave to suit her, she let them know it with her repertoire of howls and spits, guaranteed to let the biggest tomcat know not to mess with our little girl. Of course, her people had to also be kept an eye on, making sure we did right. She would show up beside the kitty dishes about a half-hour before mealtimes, and if no food was forthcoming at the proper time, she'd call at the top of her little lungs, letting the humans know it was time to eat. After supper, she had to have her goody, favorites being chicken breast, hamburger steak, catfish, and kipper snacks. It was fortunate she was a very active baby, for with her appetite, our Bosco would have never kept her girlish figure without the zips to run the calories off.
Despite her bossiness, our Bosco was so full of love, and never given to bad behavior, like sharpening her claws where she knew she shouldn't, or getting up on the kitchen counter. She was a lap cat, and she was especially tuned into our moods. Let one of us feel a little blue, and my husband or I would have a little purring bundle of love in the lap, rubbing her head on a hand, as if to say "it'll be all right. I'm here, and I love you."
Early last spring our Bosco began a slow decline that lasted several months. For very nearly all of that time, though she got gradually scrawnier and slower, she had a good appetite, if sleeping more still showed an interest in everything and everybody, and got around all right, so we just kept a careful eye on her and took her to the Vet when medicine was needed. But the day came when she didn't want to eat or drink, and wasn't following either of us about the house. She began to hurt, and that cry told us it was time for our baby Bosco to go over the Rainbow Bridge. She rode in my lap for that one last ride to the Vet, and now lays under our pine trees in the back yard, with her old friends Petunia and Knothead.
Dearest sweet Bosco, we know there is a special place in Heaven for you and all the other kitties.
A cat is pure love!
