The picture accompanying this post is a portrait Sharon drew. It's based on a photo of Wiglaf sleeping on the papers on my desk. When Sharon started selling her artistic wares via fiverr (please check out her account), I thought about commissioning a picture. But she offered to do it as a birthday gift.
We got Wiglaf as a kitten from the breeder that we got our other cats from. Wiglaf was a mix -- half Maine Coon and half British Shorthair. His parents managed to get together despite the breeder trying to keep the Maine Coons separate from the Brits.
The breeder was bringing a few kittens for Asher to choose from. He was picking his second cat after Spiderman died. As soon as I saw Wiglaf (the breeder had named him Simon) I was in love. I wanted Asher to pick him. But for some reason, Asher was taken with Alvin -- which we renamed 18. I was disappointed, but this was to be Asher's cat, so we let him pick the cat he wanted. Ethan and Sharon managed to talk me into getting the cat I wanted as well.
Early on, Wiglaf had his share of health problems. He would go into sneezing fits. One. two. three...up to a dozen or more sneezes in quick succession. And by the time he was done, he'd have given himself a bloody nose. Also, shortly after we got him he seemed to have an ear infection. The vet told us he had a ruptured eardrum. Just great. The vet said he'd recover, though he was likely to be subject to illness. I asked if he was likely to just have one health problem after another. If life with him would mean a never-ending stream of worry and veterinary bills I would bring him back to the breeder before I got too attached. But if we could expect him to have a happy, relatively healthy (even if short) life, then I could deal with it.
The health problems cleared up, but they left their mark. Wiglaf never could walk straight or meow. He'd look at me, and move his mouth as if he was meowing, and no sound came out. And he loved the cold. During the winter we had to be careful opening the front door because he was always trying (sometimes successfully) to get out. But there was one time, when we had a deep snow, he shot out the door right into a snowdrift. A second later he strutted out and back to the door looking immensely pleased with himself. Ethan picked him up and tossed him into the snow. He disappeared beneath the surface, but quickly came out and ran back to Ethan. Ethan threw him again, and again he came back. They played this tossing game for a half hour or so, until he had had enough and went inside.
Wiglaf quickly caught on that I was his person. He would spend his nights in bed next to me. And when I worked from home he would sleep on the papers on my desk -- hence the photo that served as the basis for the illustration above. He was fine with the rest of the humans in the family, but never as close. And he was a terror for the other cats. He was very food oriented, and wanted all the food in the bowls for himself. But he didn't simply eat it. When there was fresh food, he'd go to the kitchen and wait in ambush. When another cat came by, he would pounce. Only after another cat ran away he would eat. Blair would have to hold him back so that Cream (the blind, deaf one) wouldn't starve.
Wiglaf would, occasionally, get out and stay away for a few days. But he always came back -- until he didn't.
I miss Wiggy.
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