Mickey was born on July 7, 2004 in Fresno, CA. He was the offspring of two Champion Burmese Sables named Rio Grand and Golden Slipper. He was personally chosen by my mother for his pedigree and his astrology (Cancer Sun, Pisces Moon). She drove up to meet him and back home to Beverly Hills. He was loved immediately by my mother and my sister Meredith and was given a sister of his own named Isis.

We always said Mickey was 95% angel, and 5% devil. He loved to be held and would tolerate just about any sort of behavior from humans. He loved to be kissed, held, hugged, messed with, dangled, flown, tickled, wrapped up, even thrown (on something soft). He loved it all. In all his years, he never bit or scratched a person. However, that 5% devil when it came out…that’s another story. He had incredible energy. If it were up to him, he would have been right at home as a circus cat. He often played too rough with his sister Isis, and he did not play by the rules of engagement. Mickey would often try and escape captivity, loved to climb up to the highest heights, and would occasionally knock breakable things off the counter when he didn’t get enough attention. Fortunately, Meredith managed to focus some of his energy by teaching him to walk on a leash. They would often get a running start and he would run straight up the trunk of a tree.

When my sister no longer lived with my mom, Mickey became too much for her to handle. I took Mickey under my roof about five years ago. At first, I kept my emotional distance. As the years went by, however, the temporary situation became more permanent. When Joe and I started dating, he would come over and after giving me a hug…he’d walk over and pick up Mickey and stuff him in his shirt. Mickey loved it; he never stopped loving any kind of attention he could get. We even moved to Texas and brought him with us…our fab 4 (Duffy, Lola, Henrietta and Mickey). In the years I had him, we formed a bond that I cannot even describe. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to have him an entire lifetime.

I have five scars from Mickey. One from his kitten days where he tried to jump on me while I was standing and he hung on my hip from his very sharp claws. One where he knocked off a large wooden incense burner onto my sleeping head; that one required stitches. One is on the inside of my forearm, about two and a half inches long, where he dive-bombed me from a light fixture while I was sitting on the toilet in the bathroom. One on my thigh from him trying to get in my lap…poorly. The final scar is the one he left on my heart when he left this world yesterday.

Mickey is the kind of cat you are lucky to have in a lifetime. He was special. One-of-a-kind. Completely irreplaceable. Can you imagine a cat that did not only tolerate, but LOVED to be dressed up? A cat that would never tire of sleeping on your chest as you watched TV? One that enjoyed whatever brand of shenanigans and attention he could get? Loved kids. Loved strangers. Loved to play. He just loved his family and he loved his life.

The only thing he didn’t like? Water. It was our only weapon to use against him when he went after his sister Henrietta or stood defiantly on the kitchen counter (or the fireplace mantel). Joe and I still have two water guns on our end tables by our recliners. I remember early on I was baffled by my inability to punish him properly because to him, nothing was punishment! He would just purr at me.

Mickey was an escape artist, even as he grew older. Once, he escaped my Hollywood apartment…saw an opening and ran out the door and down the corridor. As I came barreling behind him, he jumped off the second story onto the first floor and just kept running. It took me about a half hour to catch him. He thought it was the greatest thing ever. He was fearless, even in the face of danger. When he was younger he would walk on his leash right up to dogs. It didn’t matter if they looked friendly or not. He needed our protection; we always said he wouldn’t last a minute outside on his own. He had zero common sense. His second escape on my watch took place while we lived in our Texas apartment. He saw an opening and took it. He turned around once to make sure I saw him, and then took off around the side of the apartment at full speed. He stopped at our back yard and ran straight up the tree and stopped to wait for us to catch him. Joe plucked a very triumphant Mickey off the branch and went straight to the pet store to buy him a collar. Later on, a bell would be added to the collar so Henrietta could know when she was being stalked.

Mickey’s breed, the Burmese, loved warm weather. Last summer, he spent most of his days out on the screened in porch…absolutely LOVING the 100 degree heat. We would have to make him come inside to take a break. This winter, he spent his time baking his buns in front of a floor heater. He’d flip around every 20 minutes or so to get his other side warm. Most nights, he would sleep in my arm pit underneath the covers…only getting up to do his business.

One of Mickey’s favorite pastimes was what we call The MEH. He would walk around during the day when he was bored and just meow the loudest…it always sounded like an emphatic “meh.” Sometimes when he had a lot of energy in the summers, he would patrol the house at night over and over, stopping by our bed…where he would get right up in our faces and deploy one very loud MEH. We threw him out at 3am on many occasions.

Mickey and I bonded, especially during the time we lived here in Texas. In the daytime, you could often find him in my lap or on my desk. And at night, you would ALWAYS find him purring on my chest for the entirety of my time in the recliner. He enjoyed licking my face and sharing whatever food I had on my plate. He was always polite and would wait until I was ready to share. He was a fiend for cat treats and could not resist a warm, clean laundry basket full of clothes. He had the most wonderful energy and the greatest purr; it always felt SO GOOD to hold him. He was a JOY.

Mickey passed away on March 15, 2019 on my chest in our bedroom, just short of his 15^th birthday. He was preceded in death by his sister Isis, brother Duffy, and sister Lola. He is survived by his youngest sister and arch nemesis Henrietta and his canine brother and snuggling favorite Whiskey. Our little family was so blessed to get an extra 6 weeks with him after his severe kidney failure set in, giving him fluids daily and hand feeding him around the clock. He was well loved, from the moment he came to live in Beverly Hills with my mom and sister to his last breaths surrounded by warmth and humans who loved him. We choose to remember his spark of life, and not dwell upon his final days. We know he is now young again and running free with Isis, Lola and Duffy.

So many memories and stories to share…there is nothing I wouldn’t give to have him back on earth with us. And there will never be another that could take his place in my heart.