It all started when I looked out into the backyard one day and saw a white rabbit hopping around. He looked very domesticated and very lost. So, of course, we adopted him and named him “Hutch.” We thought that was very clever.
Within a month, I was coming home from work in the rain and saw a small cat in the street. I stopped to see how I could help and when I opened my car door, a wet black cat jumped into my lap.
And that’s how we adopted a completely black cat who subsequently was named “Starsky” after the TV series “Starsky and Hutch.” Now we thought we were practically brilliant at naming pets.
When I took Starsky to the vet to be checked out, the tech asked me all the necessary questions including the cat’s name. I said I was a little embarrassed to tell her the cat’s name and she said that was okay – she had heard them all.
So I told her his name was Starsky, and how he got his name. She said that was not bad. She actually thought I was going to say his name was “Sammy Davis Jr.” Now that would be a great name for an all black cat!
We eventually gave Hutch to a friend who owned a farm, but Starsky lived with us for many happy years. He grew up to be the best cat ever.
He was calm, gentle, playful and great with our two children. They could easily dress him in clothes and he would never make a fuss. Or put a hat on him and he would just stare at me with a “come help me” look on his face.
We even have a picture of him with red checkers all over him and the poor cat is just frozen in position. He was the best!
He would let me carry him anywhere and would sleep on my lap. He also slept at the foot of our bed at night. He was quiet and didn’t snore a bit. But he could also be playful. Have you ever seen a cat play fetch? Well, our Starsky would!
If anyone would throw a bottle cap or fire a rubber band down the hallway, that silly feline would run as fast as he could, snatch the object and trot back with it in his mouth. Casually he would drop it at the thrower’s feet and wait for the next toss.
This would go on for as long as the thrower had energy or until Starsky got distracted by something fun . . . or maybe food.
Which brings me to poor Starsky’s weight problem. He loved to eat and he was no athlete, so eventually he ballooned to a whopping twenty-five pounds. Vet said, “Put him on a diet!”.
That’s when the begging began. Our wonderful gentleman of a cat became a real pest for food. At every meal there would be a little black paw running along the edge of the table, just in case any crumb happened to be there. Steady as clockwork.
And our Starsky was a pacifist every day of his life. He wasn’t a good fighter either. I know, because after every disagreement with another cat, he had an injury on his backside. Never anywhere else. Always the tush – from him running away, I suppose.
Our Starsky set the standard for all the other cats we ever owned. He was the most mild-mannered, cutest, gentlest, funniest, best cat ever.
He left a huge hole when he was gone. Hard to believe for such a small animal. We still talk about him in all our “remember when” stories.
Everyone should have a pet like Starsky to enjoy and then remember forever.