Chomo died on Wednesday. He was 18 years old. By cat years, I think that exceeds 100 years. He lived a relaxed and pampered life. Exactly as any cat's should be. He ate fresh crab meat every day and he loved gourmet cheese and oddly, pumpkin. He slept in his human's bed every night. He had these amazing huuuge eyes, green and luminous usually, but they changed color in different lights. In the end, he got so old that he wasn't able to move or eat or drink, and he died peacefully.
Chomo belonged to my tea ceremony teacher, (who has adopted me as a daughter while I'm in Japan). She has a son and a husband, but they are hardly ever home, so Chomo was her constant companion and gave her so much joy. I think she may get a small dog in a couple of months, and that's good news, as it's sad to think of her all alone in her new house (busy woman as she is, it is nice to have someone to greet you happily when you come home, eh?).
Every thursday, I go over for dinner. My teacher would feed Chomo scraps of fish and cheese from the table while we were eating. He was very polite. He wouldn't jump on the table. But he would put a paw up to pat her when he wanted some food. Two weeks ago, when I was over for dinner, he fell down the stairs because his legs wouldn't work. That's when I realised exactly how old this cat was getting.
When I went to her house last night, I saw a wee shrine had been put up in the entrance-way for Chomo, with a photo of him and some flowers. It was so cute, and sad. 
But as my tea ceremony teacher didn't want to talk about him that night, I tried my best to talk about happy and funny things to keep her mind off crying. Even so, I noticed she had to rush off to the 'kitchen' a few times more often than usual.
2007-05-11 @ 13:03