Tribute: Capt. Midnight, The Good Luck Black Cat

[Human dressed in dark blue New York Yankees t-shirt and faded
jeans goes up to the podium.] Meow, kitties. I'd like to make a
tribute to Capt. Midnight, The Good Luck Black Cat.

Capt. Midnight came into our lives in September 1995. My family
and I had just moved down to Florida. He came up on my back
porch, meowed once, and went on his way. I went outside and
called him. He came bounding over. I picked him up and he
kneaded my shoulder. My sister and I heated up a leftover
hamburger and fed him (little did we know he was being fed by
most of the neighborhood!). Then my mother came home from work.
"There is the friendliest black cat outside!" she said.

"Too late," my sister and I said in unison. "We already fed
him."

In the coming months, Midnight (as my sister christened him - I
added the Captain part) kept coming around to keep us company.
My father was dead set against another cat, a problem which was
exacerbated by the leasing office's strict no pets policy. My
grandmother died in February 1996. When we got back fromthe
funeral up north, my mom announced that Middie was going to
become "our" cat: he'd go to the TED to be neutered, vaccinated,
and stay inside.

As it turned out, Middie was already neutered. But he absolutely
WOULD NOT stay inside and use a litter box. This wasn't the
first time we would have had an indoor-outdoor cat, so we got him
flea control and let him come and go as he pleased. The
experience prompted me to write a poem called "The Black Cat,"
which I will read to you now:

Black cat prowls in the dead of night
While his people sleep silently inside
He'll bring us a gift when the morning comes
A gecko, a toad, maybe an orphaned tortie kitten

When the day breaks he'll be all wet
From romping through the grass or the predawn rain
I bring him in and dry him off
And he tells me stories of his night's work

Black cat sleeps in the light of day
The floor, the couch, or on top of Father's shoes
Wherever the body drops that's where he'll stay
Until I come home and then we play

On Halloween night he'll be on patrol
Guarding for the witches, ghosts and goblins coming to the door
Sitting bolt upright staring at such a sight
He's my black cat, protector of the night

Capt. Midnight could be quite a hunter when he wanted to. The
first night we had him, feeding him that leftover hamburger, he
brought us a salamander and a field mouse in appreciation. Ten
months after that, he brought us a kitten, a three week old
tortie he had "acquired" on some secret mission he never told us
about.

As he grew older, the hunting lessened, and eventually ceased.
He took well to his new job as couch fungus, still going outside
to patrol and to do "business." The weekend before Christmas,
2005, was the last time I ever saw him. My parents took him to
the local emergency vet, and then transferred him to his usual
vet around the corner. Capt. Midnight had exploratory surgery
that Tuesday. Whatever problems he had was not fixable, so we
asked the vet to help him to the Bridge while he was still under
the anesthetic from the surgery. His ashes came home on January
2 of this year, and they sit atop the curio cabinet mounted on
the wall, that my sister had gotten my mother.

Rest in peace, my little black angel. We miss you.

Debby

Anti Debby,

Dat waz a furry special trybute to a furry special kittie. Weze no yuz
missin yur special furry friend so weze gotz some hedbutts to make yu
feel bedder.

Snowflake, Booker an Chappy

ChildFree23 wrote:

[Human dressed in dark blue New York Yankees t-shirt and faded
jeans goes up to the podium.] Meow, kitties. I'd like to make a
tribute to Capt. Midnight, The Good Luck Black Cat.

Capt. Midnight came into our lives in September 1995. My family
and I had just moved down to Florida. He came up on my back
porch, meowed once, and went on his way. I went outside and
called him. He came bounding over. I picked him up and he
kneaded my shoulder. My sister and I heated up a leftover
hamburger and fed him (little did we know he was being fed by
most of the neighborhood!). Then my mother came home from work.
"There is the friendliest black cat outside!" she said.

"Too late," my sister and I said in unison. "We already fed
him."

In the coming months, Midnight (as my sister christened him - I
added the Captain part) kept coming around to keep us company.
My father was dead set against another cat, a problem which was
exacerbated by the leasing office's strict no pets policy. My
grandmother died in February 1996. When we got back fromthe
funeral up north, my mom announced that Middie was going to
become "our" cat: he'd go to the TED to be neutered, vaccinated,
and stay inside.

As it turned out, Middie was already neutered. But he absolutely
WOULD NOT stay inside and use a litter box. This wasn't the
first time we would have had an indoor-outdoor cat, so we got him
flea control and let him come and go as he pleased. The
experience prompted me to write a poem called "The Black Cat,"
which I will read to you now:

Black cat prowls in the dead of night
While his people sleep silently inside
He'll bring us a gift when the morning comes
A gecko, a toad, maybe an orphaned tortie kitten

When the day breaks he'll be all wet
From romping through the grass or the predawn rain
I bring him in and dry him off
And he tells me stories of his night's work

Black cat sleeps in the light of day
The floor, the couch, or on top of Father's shoes
Wherever the body drops that's where he'll stay
Until I come home and then we play

On Halloween night he'll be on patrol
Guarding for the witches, ghosts and goblins coming to the door
Sitting bolt upright staring at such a sight
He's my black cat, protector of the night

Capt. Midnight could be quite a hunter when he wanted to. The
first night we had him, feeding him that leftover hamburger, he
brought us a salamander and a field mouse in appreciation. Ten
months after that, he brought us a kitten, a three week old
tortie he had "acquired" on some secret mission he never told us
about.

As he grew older, the hunting lessened, and eventually ceased.
He took well to his new job as couch fungus, still going outside
to patrol and to do "business." The weekend before Christmas,
2005, was the last time I ever saw him. My parents took him to
the local emergency vet, and then transferred him to his usual
vet around the corner. Capt. Midnight had exploratory surgery
that Tuesday. Whatever problems he had was not fixable, so we
asked the vet to help him to the Bridge while he was still under
the anesthetic from the surgery. His ashes came home on January
2 of this year, and they sit atop the curio cabinet mounted on
the wall, that my sister had gotten my mother.

Rest in peace, my little black angel. We miss you.

Debby

On Sat, 07 Oct 2006 19:26:54 GMT, ChildFree23's nimble, little paws
typed:

gennle snippy

Rest in peace, my little black angel. We miss you.

Debby

Dat wuz a furry tuchink tribyoot, Anti Debby. Da Captain wuz a
wunnerful cat, an a valood membfur of dis kommunity. May hiz memfury
be a blessink fur you...
--
Purrs,

Mme. Anaïs
10/7/2006 7:40:40 PM
anais_737+at+verizon+dot+net

"ChildFree23" wrote:

[Furrybig snip]

Rest in peace, my little black angel. We miss you.

Debby

Dat wuz a *wunnerful* Tribyoot, Auntee Debbie. Yu luff fur da Captain
shines froo. Mine House wuz saddind at da nooz wenn hee went to da
Bridge, but how wunderful dat yu met eech offur an luffd eech offur.

Nize to haff nown yu, Captain Midnight. Til wee meeet agin.

Mietze
--
Remove the first m to reply

Capt. Midnight waz furry speshul sniff

Kissa


ChildFree23 wrote:

[Human dressed in dark blue New York Yankees t-shirt and faded
jeans goes up to the podium.] Meow, kitties. I'd like to make a
tribute to Capt. Midnight, The Good Luck Black Cat.

Capt. Midnight came into our lives in September 1995. My family
and I had just moved down to Florida. He came up on my back
porch, meowed once, and went on his way. I went outside and
called him. He came bounding over. I picked him up and he
kneaded my shoulder. My sister and I heated up a leftover
hamburger and fed him (little did we know he was being fed by
most of the neighborhood!). Then my mother came home from work.
"There is the friendliest black cat outside!" she said.

"Too late," my sister and I said in unison. "We already fed
him."

In the coming months, Midnight (as my sister christened him - I
added the Captain part) kept coming around to keep us company.
My father was dead set against another cat, a problem which was
exacerbated by the leasing office's strict no pets policy. My
grandmother died in February 1996. When we got back fromthe
funeral up north, my mom announced that Middie was going to
become "our" cat: he'd go to the TED to be neutered, vaccinated,
and stay inside.

As it turned out, Middie was already neutered. But he absolutely
WOULD NOT stay inside and use a litter box. This wasn't the
first time we would have had an indoor-outdoor cat, so we got him
flea control and let him come and go as he pleased. The
experience prompted me to write a poem called "The Black Cat,"
which I will read to you now:

Black cat prowls in the dead of night
While his people sleep silently inside
He'll bring us a gift when the morning comes
A gecko, a toad, maybe an orphaned tortie kitten

When the day breaks he'll be all wet
From romping through the grass or the predawn rain
I bring him in and dry him off
And he tells me stories of his night's work

Black cat sleeps in the light of day
The floor, the couch, or on top of Father's shoes
Wherever the body drops that's where he'll stay
Until I come home and then we play

On Halloween night he'll be on patrol
Guarding for the witches, ghosts and goblins coming to the door
Sitting bolt upright staring at such a sight
He's my black cat, protector of the night

Capt. Midnight could be quite a hunter when he wanted to. The
first night we had him, feeding him that leftover hamburger, he
brought us a salamander and a field mouse in appreciation. Ten
months after that, he brought us a kitten, a three week old
tortie he had "acquired" on some secret mission he never told us
about.

As he grew older, the hunting lessened, and eventually ceased.
He took well to his new job as couch fungus, still going outside
to patrol and to do "business." The weekend before Christmas,
2005, was the last time I ever saw him. My parents took him to
the local emergency vet, and then transferred him to his usual
vet around the corner. Capt. Midnight had exploratory surgery
that Tuesday. Whatever problems he had was not fixable, so we
asked the vet to help him to the Bridge while he was still under
the anesthetic from the surgery. His ashes came home on January
2 of this year, and they sit atop the curio cabinet mounted on
the wall, that my sister had gotten my mother.

Rest in peace, my little black angel. We miss you.

Debby

Captain Midnight wuz a cat's cat. He liffed life onna hiz own termz. We
will all mizz him.
Ralph, Fred, Clyde, Ned, Alice, & Jane

[Lurking anti sniffles as she listens to Anti Debby read the poem.]


ChildFree23 wrote:

[Human dressed in dark blue New York Yankees t-shirt and faded
jeans goes up to the podium.] Meow, kitties. I'd like to make a
tribute to Capt. Midnight, The Good Luck Black Cat.

Capt. Midnight came into our lives in September 1995. My family
and I had just moved down to Florida. He came up on my back
porch, meowed once, and went on his way. I went outside and
called him. He came bounding over. I picked him up and he
kneaded my shoulder. My sister and I heated up a leftover
hamburger and fed him (little did we know he was being fed by
most of the neighborhood!). Then my mother came home from work.
"There is the friendliest black cat outside!" she said.

"Too late," my sister and I said in unison. "We already fed
him."

In the coming months, Midnight (as my sister christened him - I
added the Captain part) kept coming around to keep us company.
My father was dead set against another cat, a problem which was
exacerbated by the leasing office's strict no pets policy. My
grandmother died in February 1996. When we got back fromthe
funeral up north, my mom announced that Middie was going to
become "our" cat: he'd go to the TED to be neutered, vaccinated,
and stay inside.

As it turned out, Middie was already neutered. But he absolutely
WOULD NOT stay inside and use a litter box. This wasn't the
first time we would have had an indoor-outdoor cat, so we got him
flea control and let him come and go as he pleased. The
experience prompted me to write a poem called "The Black Cat,"
which I will read to you now:

Black cat prowls in the dead of night
While his people sleep silently inside
He'll bring us a gift when the morning comes
A gecko, a toad, maybe an orphaned tortie kitten

When the day breaks he'll be all wet
From romping through the grass or the predawn rain
I bring him in and dry him off
And he tells me stories of his night's work

Black cat sleeps in the light of day
The floor, the couch, or on top of Father's shoes
Wherever the body drops that's where he'll stay
Until I come home and then we play

On Halloween night he'll be on patrol
Guarding for the witches, ghosts and goblins coming to the door
Sitting bolt upright staring at such a sight
He's my black cat, protector of the night

Capt. Midnight could be quite a hunter when he wanted to. The
first night we had him, feeding him that leftover hamburger, he
brought us a salamander and a field mouse in appreciation. Ten
months after that, he brought us a kitten, a three week old
tortie he had "acquired" on some secret mission he never told us
about.

As he grew older, the hunting lessened, and eventually ceased.
He took well to his new job as couch fungus, still going outside
to patrol and to do "business." The weekend before Christmas,
2005, was the last time I ever saw him. My parents took him to
the local emergency vet, and then transferred him to his usual
vet around the corner. Capt. Midnight had exploratory surgery
that Tuesday. Whatever problems he had was not fixable, so we
asked the vet to help him to the Bridge while he was still under
the anesthetic from the surgery. His ashes came home on January
2 of this year, and they sit atop the curio cabinet mounted on
the wall, that my sister had gotten my mother.

Rest in peace, my little black angel. We miss you.

Debby

six cats and theirz hoomanz silently weep for the loss of their friend and
the sadness of his family... Tiger approaches anti deb, that was very
bootiful, and diginified like he would haf liked, he eadbumps her hand and
steps away to wipe hisown tears
ChildFree23 wrote in message
link.net...
[Human dressed in dark blue New York Yankees t-shirt and faded
jeans goes up to the podium.] Meow, kitties. I'd like to make a
tribute to Capt. Midnight, The Good Luck Black Cat.

Capt. Midnight came into our lives in September 1995. My family
and I had just moved down to Florida. He came up on my back
porch, meowed once, and went on his way. I went outside and
called him. He came bounding over. I picked him up and he
kneaded my shoulder. My sister and I heated up a leftover
hamburger and fed him (little did we know he was being fed by
most of the neighborhood!). Then my mother came home from work.
"There is the friendliest black cat outside!" she said.

"Too late," my sister and I said in unison. "We already fed
him."

In the coming months, Midnight (as my sister christened him - I
added the Captain part) kept coming around to keep us company.
My father was dead set against another cat, a problem which was
exacerbated by the leasing office's strict no pets policy. My
grandmother died in February 1996. When we got back fromthe
funeral up north, my mom announced that Middie was going to
become "our" cat: he'd go to the TED to be neutered, vaccinated,
and stay inside.

As it turned out, Middie was already neutered. But he absolutely
WOULD NOT stay inside and use a litter box. This wasn't the
first time we would have had an indoor-outdoor cat, so we got him
flea control and let him come and go as he pleased. The
experience prompted me to write a poem called "The Black Cat,"
which I will read to you now:

Black cat prowls in the dead of night
While his people sleep silently inside
He'll bring us a gift when the morning comes
A gecko, a toad, maybe an orphaned tortie kitten

When the day breaks he'll be all wet
From romping through the grass or the predawn rain
I bring him in and dry him off
And he tells me stories of his night's work

Black cat sleeps in the light of day
The floor, the couch, or on top of Father's shoes
Wherever the body drops that's where he'll stay
Until I come home and then we play

On Halloween night he'll be on patrol
Guarding for the witches, ghosts and goblins coming to the door
Sitting bolt upright staring at such a sight
He's my black cat, protector of the night

Capt. Midnight could be quite a hunter when he wanted to. The
first night we had him, feeding him that leftover hamburger, he
brought us a salamander and a field mouse in appreciation. Ten
months after that, he brought us a kitten, a three week old
tortie he had "acquired" on some secret mission he never told us
about.

As he grew older, the hunting lessened, and eventually ceased.
He took well to his new job as couch fungus, still going outside
to patrol and to do "business." The weekend before Christmas,
2005, was the last time I ever saw him. My parents took him to
the local emergency vet, and then transferred him to his usual
vet around the corner. Capt. Midnight had exploratory surgery
that Tuesday. Whatever problems he had was not fixable, so we
asked the vet to help him to the Bridge while he was still under
the anesthetic from the surgery. His ashes came home on January
2 of this year, and they sit atop the curio cabinet mounted on
the wall, that my sister had gotten my mother.

Rest in peace, my little black angel. We miss you.

Debby

Pit2nya comz and rubz againzt Anti Debby'z legz.
Oh, Anti Debby, luuk up into da sky, wheer Captain Midnight
iz luukin deown at yu frum da bridge, az yu tell hiz story, and
ov yur luff furr him.
--
Pitö.önya

ChildFree23 wrote:
[Human dressed in dark blue New York Yankees t-shirt and faded
jeans goes up to the podium.] Meow, kitties. I'd like to make a
tribute to Capt. Midnight, The Good Luck Black Cat.

Capt. Midnight came into our lives in September 1995. My family
and I had just moved down to Florida. He came up on my back
porch, meowed once, and went on his way. I went outside and
called him. He came bounding over. I picked him up and he
kneaded my shoulder. My sister and I heated up a leftover
hamburger and fed him (little did we know he was being fed by
most of the neighborhood!). Then my mother came home from work.
"There is the friendliest black cat outside!" she said.

"Too late," my sister and I said in unison. "We already fed
him."

In the coming months, Midnight (as my sister christened him - I
added the Captain part) kept coming around to keep us company.
My father was dead set against another cat, a problem which was
exacerbated by the leasing office's strict no pets policy. My
grandmother died in February 1996. When we got back fromthe
funeral up north, my mom announced that Middie was going to
become "our" cat: he'd go to the TED to be neutered, vaccinated,
and stay inside.

As it turned out, Middie was already neutered. But he absolutely
WOULD NOT stay inside and use a litter box. This wasn't the
first time we would have had an indoor-outdoor cat, so we got him
flea control and let him come and go as he pleased. The
experience prompted me to write a poem called "The Black Cat,"
which I will read to you now:

Black cat prowls in the dead of night
While his people sleep silently inside
He'll bring us a gift when the morning comes
A gecko, a toad, maybe an orphaned tortie kitten

When the day breaks he'll be all wet
From romping through the grass or the predawn rain
I bring him in and dry him off
And he tells me stories of his night's work

Black cat sleeps in the light of day
The floor, the couch, or on top of Father's shoes
Wherever the body drops that's where he'll stay
Until I come home and then we play

On Halloween night he'll be on patrol
Guarding for the witches, ghosts and goblins coming to the door
Sitting bolt upright staring at such a sight
He's my black cat, protector of the night

Capt. Midnight could be quite a hunter when he wanted to. The
first night we had him, feeding him that leftover hamburger, he
brought us a salamander and a field mouse in appreciation. Ten
months after that, he brought us a kitten, a three week old
tortie he had "acquired" on some secret mission he never told us
about.

As he grew older, the hunting lessened, and eventually ceased.
He took well to his new job as couch fungus, still going outside
to patrol and to do "business." The weekend before Christmas,
2005, was the last time I ever saw him. My parents took him to
the local emergency vet, and then transferred him to his usual
vet around the corner. Capt. Midnight had exploratory surgery
that Tuesday. Whatever problems he had was not fixable, so we
asked the vet to help him to the Bridge while he was still under
the anesthetic from the surgery. His ashes came home on January
2 of this year, and they sit atop the curio cabinet mounted on
the wall, that my sister had gotten my mother.

Rest in peace, my little black angel. We miss you.

Debby

He waz a wunnerful cat. If I may, I will inklude the signature Bossy
sumtimez uses as I feel it sums up Captain Midnight purrfikly.
Jasmine

--
'Yes, Life,' said the Cat, 'with its dim, delicious half-tones and veiled
indeterminate distances. Its surprisals, escapes, encounters, and dizzying
leaps - its full-throated choruses in honour of the morning star, and its
melting reveries beneath the sun-warmed wall.'
Kipling

"ChildFree23" wrote in message
link.net...
[Human dressed in dark blue New York Yankees t-shirt and faded jeans goes
up to the podium.] Meow, kitties. I'd like to make a tribute to Capt.
Midnight, The Good Luck Black Cat.

Capt. Midnight came into our lives in September 1995. My family and I had
just moved down to Florida. He came up on my back porch, meowed once, and
went on his way. I went outside and called him. He came bounding over.
I picked him up and he kneaded my shoulder. My sister and I heated up a
leftover hamburger and fed him (little did we know he was being fed by
most of the neighborhood!). Then my mother came home from work. "There is
the friendliest black cat outside!" she said.

"Too late," my sister and I said in unison. "We already fed him."

In the coming months, Midnight (as my sister christened him - I added the
Captain part) kept coming around to keep us company. My father was dead
set against another cat, a problem which was exacerbated by the leasing
office's strict no pets policy. My grandmother died in February 1996.
When we got back fromthe funeral up north, my mom announced that Middie
was going to become "our" cat: he'd go to the TED to be neutered,
vaccinated, and stay inside.

As it turned out, Middie was already neutered. But he absolutely WOULD
NOT stay inside and use a litter box. This wasn't the first time we would
have had an indoor-outdoor cat, so we got him flea control and let him
come and go as he pleased. The experience prompted me to write a poem
called "The Black Cat," which I will read to you now:

Black cat prowls in the dead of night
While his people sleep silently inside
He'll bring us a gift when the morning comes
A gecko, a toad, maybe an orphaned tortie kitten

When the day breaks he'll be all wet
From romping through the grass or the predawn rain
I bring him in and dry him off
And he tells me stories of his night's work

Black cat sleeps in the light of day
The floor, the couch, or on top of Father's shoes
Wherever the body drops that's where he'll stay
Until I come home and then we play

On Halloween night he'll be on patrol
Guarding for the witches, ghosts and goblins coming to the door
Sitting bolt upright staring at such a sight
He's my black cat, protector of the night

Capt. Midnight could be quite a hunter when he wanted to. The first night
we had him, feeding him that leftover hamburger, he brought us a
salamander and a field mouse in appreciation. Ten months after that, he
brought us a kitten, a three week old tortie he had "acquired" on some
secret mission he never told us about.

As he grew older, the hunting lessened, and eventually ceased. He took
well to his new job as couch fungus, still going outside to patrol and to
do "business." The weekend before Christmas, 2005, was the last time I
ever saw him. My parents took him to the local emergency vet, and then
transferred him to his usual vet around the corner. Capt. Midnight had
exploratory surgery that Tuesday. Whatever problems he had was not
fixable, so we asked the vet to help him to the Bridge while he was still
under the anesthetic from the surgery. His ashes came home on January 2
of this year, and they sit atop the curio cabinet mounted on the wall,
that my sister had gotten my mother.

Rest in peace, my little black angel. We miss you.

Debby

[Human dressed in dark blue New York Yankees t-shirt and faded
jeans goes up to the podium.] Meow, kitties. I'd like to make a
tribute to Capt. Midnight, The Good Luck Black Cat.

[snip]

Rest in peace, my little black angel. We miss you.

Debby

sniffle Dat wuz a furry touching tribyute. Captain Midnight wuz a
memfur uv my fan club an so wuz an espshully speshul kitty. He earned a
citashun fur hiz wurk in animal rescue.

Allegra "Great Girtha"