Stories of the Moose

Steak, Deli Ham, Ribs, and Rotisserie Chicken

Moose gets in touch with her inner beast at mealtime. 

In her last months, Moose got whatever she wanted. Dry cat food was far too difficult to eat anymore, and wet food gave her terrible indigestion. I did not know how much time she had left, but it was going to be a non-stop scrumptious feast if I had anything to say about it.

One of my favorite meals is grilled New York sirloin steak, medium rare. Just enough to sear the outside, but just rare enough to swim in its own bloody juices. I'd grill up a steak about once a week and would share with the Moose. Not that I minded; she felt that, in her old age, she deserved the steak just as much as I did. You know, she was absolutely right. Steak eventually replaced wet cat food completely and, just as with the McDonald's plain double cheeseburgers she loved so much, I would hand-chop New York sirloin down for her each morning and evening.

Deli meats were another favorite of the Moose. True, processed meats are heavy in sodium and whatnot, but I knew Moose did not have long to go. Better to go out with a bang (or would that be a poop, her Moose's case?) Oven baked ham, rare roast beef, and roasted turkey breast were her absolute favorites. I would go to Hannaford's deli counter and get a quarter pound of something shaved down paper-thin. The people behind the counter would wonder what I was doing with such a small amount of meat. "Only the best for my cat," I would declare like a proud father.

Ribs are yet another favorite of mine, but I had a hard time finding authentic barbecue in New England. Sort of like finding descent clam chowder in the Deep South. Damn fine barbecue is one thing I really missed about Florida. One evening, my then-girlfriend and I prepared a huge rack of ribs. She had spent some time in Detroit and knew her barbecue right proper. The sauce was fantastic, but unfortunately the ribs were sub-par and it did not turn out like we had expected. I don't think Moose had never seen ribs before, but boy was she interested in them! She slinked up onto the bed, grabbed a rib off the plate, and slinked away with it. When we tried to take it away from her, she squinted at us and tugged it back. I had never seen her so aggressive towards food before. We ended up hand-feeding her the meat from an entire beef rib. The next morning, we found perfectly-defined pawprints in the tub of barbecue sauce the ribs had baked in.

I often would bring home a rotisserie chicken from Hannaford's in lieu of cooking dinner. They are inexpensive, simple, ready-to-eat, and damned good. Moose seemed to know when I was bringing home a chicken. She would greet me at the door with "Meow! Meow! What's in the bag! What did you bring home for me! Meow! Hey! Down here, dumbass!" She and I would sit on the couch and chow down to the bare carcass together. Sharing the chicken was such a special treat for both of us that it needed to be part of our last day together.