Yesterday evening, our cat, Boez, passed away. We had him for almost 11 years.
Bobo (one of his many pet names) was always a skittish cat, weary of human touch and interaction. It never stopped us from trying to rub him or getting him to lay on us. It never stopped us from loving him. But, he was great with other animals.
Only once could we get him to lay on one of us and it was such a shock we had to take pictures:
We had Bo-buddy for about 3 months before he got a name. We tried everything we could think of and nothing would stick. One day at work, a co-worker told me her pregnant sister was going to name her child Boez. She said we should name our cat it. I told her it was the ugliest f*cking name I’d ever heard and there was no way in hell I’d name a pet “Boez.” She laughed and suggested I “try it.”
That night, after work, he greeted me at the door. I rubbed his head and slowly walked up the stairs to our apartment. At the top, I stood looking down at our newest pet. I called out, “Boez.” The damn cat came running up the stairs and rubbed against my leg, like, “Finally! You figured out my name!”
When my husband, LaMont, got home from work that night, I told him the story. He did the same thing: calling out, “Boez.” The cat once again came running up and rubbed against his leg.
And that was how we finally figured out that our cat wanted to be called one of the ugliest f*cking names I’ve ever heard.
Some of Bo-ass’s favorite things included: eating lunch meat, laying on paper, hiding milk rings, chewing electrical cords and cables, chewing shoes, chewing belts, chewing on (expensive) action figures (he only went after the really expensive ones – the cat had good taste), and being brushed.
He was a good cat – even if he wasn’t overly affectionate – and is sorely missed.
Goodbye Boez, our Maine Coon friend.