R.I.P. Harley Davidson Peller

Yesterday when I received a call from my husband saying that our cat of 15 years was hit, it didn't really register at first.  It was about 11 am and I was at my desk doing the usual tasks - reporting, emailing, facebooking, etc.  When he called and told me that our neighbor left him a message that Harley was hit by a truck and she was freaking out, it took a minute or two to click and then I just logged off my computer and walked out the door. 

The ride home was so slow and so sad.  When I pulled into my driveway, the Faith Farm driver that ran over my cat was standing outside of his truck alongside two of my neighbors.  I didn't want to get out of the car. I had just seen Harley in the morning, hanging out by the front door, and then again coming to greet my friend Debbie when she stopped by to pick up N for school. 

I turned off the car and took a deep breath.  Part of me wanted to tell this guy, "What the F - do you not look at where you're driving?" and the other part of me just didn't have the energy to say a word.  Walking over to them, I started to well up, and when he (sincerely) apologized all I could say was , "It's OK.  It was an accident."  Which is truly what it was.

My poor neighbor had to see Harley pass away on her driveway in the most heinous manner.  Fine, Harley was 16 and most probably deaf at this point.  Fine, he should have become an indoor cat entirely once we saw old age creep up on him.  But still - he was Harley.  My first pet that was MINE. 

I picked him out from the shelter filled with cats needing a home.  I liked him the best because he had a limp in his left leg - I thought it added character.  (Shortly after, he gained the nickname "pimp with a limp" - that was my husband's creation).  He was laying on a perch upside down just chillin' out.  I had to have him.  He had the most beautiful face and markings.  He had big green eyes, and a gorgeous super soft tiger stripe coat.  He was part Maine Coon, part Siamese, part tabby - a little bit of everything.    I named him Harley because he purred so loud and so frequently that it sounded like a motorcycle. 

When I first brought him home, he was skittish but soon after he came into his own.  He loved to fetch balls and bring them back to you.If you didn't throw it shortly after he retrieved it, he would nip your ankle as if saying, "Hey, throw that!".  He tolerated me bringing Petey into our world and then, most recently, Sadie.  He was such a great cat.

He would meow and rub up against my mom so that she would give him treats.  He knew that when Grandma came over, he was going to get spoiled. 

We used to call him Fat Ass because at one point he weighed a whopping 19 pounds.  19 pounds of love :)  We'd leave baskets and boxes around and next thing you know Harley somehow would fit has fat ass into it, purring and so content. 

He would groom Petey and it was the cutest thing.  Petey had the bichon "fro" and Harley would struggle with each lick, but he kept on doing it.  He would sit there and lick my husband's head for long periods of time...it was so funny to see him perched above my husband's head and licking away.  Such fun memories :)

We buried him yesterday shortly after it happened.  I still don't fully believe it happened.  I haven't told the boys but I plan on doing it soon, maybe tonight.  I guess you have to take the bad with the good when it comes to pets.  He lived a long, great life and I will miss him dearly.  I'll never forget my little fat ass. 

Picture courtesy of Keren...thanks Ker!