Funny Man

He would’ve been 15 in April.

After a two-year medical condition he spent all weekend sick and when I carried him into the sunlight for his last trip to the vet to be put to sleep I talked to him and reminded him of how he loved to lay in the sun. The vet told me what I already knew – Chaplin was dying.

Rewind to March 1993. I was given a furry condolence gift after my cat I’d had for five years, Kimba disappeared, never to be found much to my efforts.

A co-worker of mine said she had another feline for me, a Tonkenese/Siamese male named Sidney who I renamed Chaplin as in Charlie Chaplin. He was long, black and white, had a tuxedo look and turned out to be quite the clown. He had been living with some other cats but didn’t get along with them.

My co-worker told me, “He likes beer and salsa but don’t give him any!”

I remember the night I brought him home and he was so hyper, flying around the apartment, knocking over his tall cardboard house that came with him as my then fiancÃ?©e, hearing the background noise, asked on the phone, “Is that him?” when I told him about our new addition.

Chaplin would get in the most hilarious positions anyone had seen and I have numerous pictures which reflect them. He was strong, too and could unlatch the latch on the screen door by sitting on the counter and push his way outside.

My late boyfriend used to think I was crazy when I would tell him about Chaplin’s antics until he saw for himself.

Then he started taking pix with his cell phone camera.

I remember once my then fianc�©e and I were having a meeting with the deejay we were going to hire for our wedding reception when Chaplin jumped incredibly high in the air and snagged a baby lizard that was crawling on the wall.

He played with odd things, too. One time he hooked a flat piece of squash off my plate with his claw.

Another time he raced around the room, grabbed a straw, and jumped on the stereo speaker with it in his mouth, the straw dangling from his whiskers like a cigarette. He just sat there.

And if you opened up ice cream or yogurt he’d chase you around the house for a bite.

One time my fianc�©e had the flu and as he lay in bed, his large stomach moving up and down with every snore, Chaplin enjoyed the tummy ride. It looked like a cartoon.

Another time my fianc�©e and I were watching a movie and Chaplin ran across the remote, changing the channel.

“I can’t find the remote!” my fiancÃ?©e complained. “He sure as hell found it though.”

I had nicknames for Chaplin – Chap, Chapel, Chapstick, Chappaquiddick.

He loved to sit in the window and cackle at the birds, daring them to come near but he never caught one though he came close a few times.

He was a huge explorer, trying to fit in the tiniest and craziest places and often I would come home to find him lying on the toilet seat, across the stereo, on top of the t.v., on top of my computer monitor, on the scanner, the latter of which he would sometimes run across and accidentally hit a button, scanning nothing at all.

He would get jealous of my computer and sometimes lay across the mouse so I couldn’t use it.

Every box, every paper bag, every newfound treasure from a suitcase to a laundry bag became his temporary new perch and he would camp there for weeks until he got bored with that particular object and move on to something else. At Christmas one year he took a field trip on each gift, laying on a different one each day till he got bored. Sometimes he would try to unwrap them.

One time I couldn’t find him in the house and looked frantically around only to find him sitting calmly on top of the fridge staring down at me, purring away.

I naively thought I would outlive him just like I think with my dog who is ten.

Quirky, funny, finicky, and smart, his spirit remains in my home and in each memory I keep in picture frames and in the snapshots of my mind.