On a morning walk in August 2009, Sir Francis Bacon’s eyes met mine and it was love at first sight. Well, at least it was love at first sight for me. And, at the time, I didn’t even know his name was Sir Francis Bacon. Nor did he.
Sir Francis emitted a little hiss from his itty bitty kitty body as he stared at me wide-eyed and uncertain what to do as I towered over him while he stood abandoned on a rock by the roadside.
I can only imagine how he felt as I bent down and grabbed his tiny body and nestled him under my chin to comfort him, certain that I was saving him from an untimely death as prey for other animals. I was surprised that he didn’t claw or bite, as kitten claws and bites can be pretty fierce. Instead, he started to purr almost immediately, and played with my hair. For him, it was love at second sight.
He and his brother Alex (who was under the rock he was standing on) quickly became family to me. And, soon after, the formidable name of Sir Francis Bacon became the playful, almost girly name, Franny, which was actually contrary to his rather regal and portly countenance.
This teeny tiny kitty grew from the size of my palm into a 17 pound Maine Coon cat; a gentle giant who, from 2009 until 2023, rarely ever left my side. He loved me unconditionally, and was my protector (whether I needed one or not).
One night, Alex, who was lithe and lean and the antithesis of Franny, was relentlessly playing with my feet as I tried to sleep. Franny, who loved to eat, but didn’t care much for exercise, gave a big sigh after I made my last fruitless plea with Alex to stop messing with me. Franny hoisted his big self to his feet and sauntered down to the end of the bed and, without using his claws, simply but gently batted Alex as if to say, “Enough is enough, brother. Time for bed!” Alex quietly retreated, resigned to chase down and play with the errant mosquito or spider who might have entered the house that night. Franny sauntered back to my side in bed, and with a heavy sigh he curled up and fell asleep. It was in that moment that I knew that Franny would be a force to be reckoned with if anyone ever tried to mess with me. I sighed a happy sigh, and fell asleep in his warmth.
On Veteran’s Day this year (November 11, 2023), dear Franny passed away in my arms at 5am…the exact same time that he would normally wake me up with a tender but assertive yowl that made it clear I was almost late in serving his breakfast.
Some would say that I rescued Franny when he was sitting on that rock by the roadside. But, those who have “rescued” animals from various fates (from shelters and more), would wholeheartedly agree with me that Franny rescued me. He was my rock.
After his last yawning breath, I whispered in his ear on that Veteran’s Day morning, “Thank you for your service.”
