Boo died this morning. The tuxedo cat was about thirteen years old.
Boo was born in Brooklyn in 2001, was rescued on a cold and miserable night, and came to live with my mother in 2002– after Miss Chutney was gently reclaimed by her rightful owner, yours truly, just before Christmas, 2001.
Named “Boo” by his rescuer–a crude name, short for “Bootacious,” apparently because of his high-tailed comportment –he was eventually redubbed “Woo.” (“In honor of the Wu Tang Clan,” I was told, not convincingly.)
That was fine; but it was a bit creepy that the name change was denied. “What do you mean, Boo? He’s always been named Woo.” (And Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia.)
Personally, I don’t do crazy or even semi-crazy, not to mention passive-aggressive; so I’ll keep Boo, without the tacious. You know: Halloween and all that.
So, Boo was a black-and-white shorthair– that “tuxedo” cat type I know extremely well. At one point in my idealistic youth, I decided to name the type (tuxedo isn’t technically a breed), in deference to another tuxedo cat in our family, named Sundae. He would be known as a “Long Island Bicolor.”
That name is taken–it refers to yellow-and-white corn– but what did I know?
Be it tuxedo or bicolor, Boo was true to the type. He was shy, a little jumpy, immaculately groomed, and deeply loyal to one and only one human. Besides that, he liked to eat and guard the bedroom.
Good kitty. I’m glad Boo gave joy to his family for many years.
Rest in peace, Boo.