Squeeks came to live with my mom and dad a little over 10 years ago. He was an outside cat and liked to roam the farm area, and visit with the neighbors and hunt for little critters. We didn’t know where his actual home was, but when it comes to my dad and a stray animal, if they need shelter and food, they get it at our house.
Squeek came to them a sickly cat. He had lungworm and congestive heart failure when they took him to the vet the first time 10 years ago. He was a battle cat as well, and had many scars from getting into it with other toms in the area.
Throughout the years, Squeak spent more and more time at my parents house, and eventually stayed there 100% of the time. Of course my father considered him his from day one. Every year he was taken to the vet for shots, every time he came home with another bite wound or beaten up from another battle with a local tom, off to the vet he went. My father refused to make him stay inside, saying he was miserable as an inside cat, and he loved to be outside on the farm catching critters and being in the fresh air. For an outside cat, being through all he went through, and having the health problems he did, he lived a long life, and a happy and good one at that.
Squeek got his name because he never really meowed. He made this funny little sqeaky noise when he wanted to go out or if he wanted food, or attention. He loved my dad, and would play with him regularly. He was not a fan of the other cats, but tolerated them. The only one he really adored was Isabelle, another one of my mom and dad’s kitties. She’s a gorgeous tortie with an attitude larger than all the cats put together. They would kiss hello, and she’d wrap her paws around his neck when he came back in from being outside.
Squeak died today of a strok