#mickey.

I'm so damn sorry I was busy and didn't wish Mickey a happy birthday yesterday. But better late than never, right? 😅😉😇 Happy Birthday, baby 💗💝

FULL NAME : Michael. ( named after the archangel ). NICKNAMES : “ Meownsignor Michael ”, “ Mickey ” most commonly. PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION : ginger and white classic tabby maine coon cat. light blue eyes. nicked left ear. in older age, small scar above his right eye and another across his muzzle. male. 29 lbs. VERSES : Pre-MM Canon ( book ii ), Far Cry 5 ( book vi ), potential for others. BIO:  John had been a resident of the island for only a month when he made a trip to Crockett’s isolated Uppards for the first time. Halfway through his trip back to the main shore, he heard tiny squeaks and mewls coming from underneath the tarp in his rowboat where, upon unfolding it, he discovered that a runty ginger kitten had snuck into his boat as a stowaway. A mere week old and already orphaned, the little guy was flea-ridden and scrawny and surely wouldn’t survive another night on his own. So, still uncomfortable in the utterly solitary nature of his new post, John decided to welcome the scrappy baby cat into his home as his pet and roommate. He was bathed and brushed and spoiled, until the kitten that could once fit in the priest’s palm soon grew into MICKEY, a near thirty-pound behemoth of a maine coon cat.     If Mickey was a miniature lion, then Crockett was this little king’s empire from 1970 and well into the early 2000s. He was an incredibly affectionate cat with the humans he called family ( John, Millie, little Sarah, and really all of the island’s children ), but was otherwise a well-known hellion amongst the other local pet-owners. This maine coon ruled Crockett with an iron paw, regularly bullying even the neighborhood dogs into submission until they turned tail and ran, all for the purpose of keeping the focus and attention of any nearby humans on him and only him. Fierce though he may be, Mickey had an incredibly low prey drive for a cat. So low that it was near non-existent. He got more thrills out of “hunting” ( read: intimidating ) animals far bigger than himself, and elected to get fresh meat via his tried and true alternative methods : stealing catch from the docks, or meowing at dad until he eventually gave in and put dinner’s leftovers into his bowl. After all, why bother chasing down birds and mice when he could just boss around his holy owner?     A cat of refined taste, Mickey’s favorite hobbies and past-times include ---- taking long walks around the island and making house calls with John ; sitting at the altar and trying to sneak a sip of the communion wine during mass services ( always unsuccessful, not that it ever deterred him ) ; distracting the altar boys and kids at mass ; stealing boxes of eucharist wafers and forcing John to chase him around the island for them ; wearing silly little outfits that mom ( Missus Millie Gunning ) made for him, his favorites being his mini chasubles that match with dad’s, and especially his knitted strawberry hat ; sitting perched on John’s shoulders while he cooks or washes dishes ; desperately trying to climb into the oven because it’s warm ; antagonizing fresh-caught crabs until they ultimately pinch his tail ; taking naps in John’s lap while he reads or tends to desk work ; playing fetch ; bouncing off the rectory’s walls after a sniff of catnip ; and being a general fuzzy menace to the public.     Mickey peacefully passed at the very ripe old age of 35 years ( that’s 156 in cat years! ), spunky and well-fed up until his very last day on God’s Green Earth. As one of Crockett’s paramount residents for an entire generation, he was given the honor of a proper Catholic burial in the old cemetery that lies between St. Patrick’s and the rectory. John tends to the cosmetics of his old furry friend’s grave. It is decorated with a well-maintained catmint bush, and a knee-level statue of Saint Francis holding a cat ( who just so happens to don Mickey’s favorite strawberry knit hat ).

~Always Keep The Faith~ 

you're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. and you feel like you've done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired. you're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.