monchichi, 2000-2007

My good friend Monchichi passed away in his home in Oakland, California last week. He’d fought a long battle with familial renal disease. He was a few months short of seven years old.

I knew him through his guardian Lisa, my friend and former housemate in San Francisco. Monchichi delighted and entertained his friends with his sociable good nature, his Abyssinian poise, his physical pliability and his fondness for being slapped on the rump. He enjoyed being held, chasing moths, playing on the grey office chair, drinking other people’s water, and sleeping on top of people. Those privileged enough to know him well would occasionally witness his stunning sideways-mock-attack. Recently, Monchichi had succeeded in training Ed with an elaborate routine that resulted in Ed bending down to let Monchichi climb on his shoulders.

Monchichi and I were constant daytime companions when I lived in San Francisco working at home. He’d sit or sleep behind me on the chair while I worked. On breaks, I’d play with him or take him into the garden behind our house. I was quite attached, and he was the only roommate I had nightmares about. I’d dream he was slipping out of my hands as he tried to climb out the window onto a busy street. One night, I dreamt of a terrible ache in my groin. I woke with a start and saw Monchichi sleeping peacefully on top of my comforter, all his weight resting on my trouble spot.

Sleep well, Monchichi. There’ll always be a spot on my futon for you. [launch flash gallery]