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Memory Wall

Gizmo L

Name

Gizmo 

1997-2018

Gizmo (also known as Gizzy, Gizmeister, Gizzard, Mister Mo, Best Boy and Giz Wizzer) lived a long, full and decidedly Gizmodian life with his loving humans and best feline friend, Mitzey. 

In his youth, Gizzard roamed the lanes around his home like a gangster surveilling his territory. Occasionally getting into trouble with the law, he was the undisputed boss of all the cats in the hood and, much to the dismay of his humans, he didn’t back down from a fight. Perhaps lucky for us all, he usually won. 

Yes, Gizmo loved to break the rules, and he was known to jump up on the dinner table to serve himself some chicken. Or fish. Or beef. He wasn’t picky. One day while his humans were in another room, he sampled some very spicy Thai food before jumping down and trying to rub the heat from his face. His enthusiasm for meat theft decreased only slightly following this undoubtedly traumatic experience.

As The Gizmeister got older, he mellowed out a bit. His favourite things to do were lounging in the sunny garden (or at least a sun spot indoors), getting a rub under the chin or behind his ears, cuddling with his buddy Mitzey, and, of course, eating food. 

He also took up operatic caterwauling. Giz’s voice ranged from booming baritone to piercing soprano, and he enjoyed waking his humans with his heart song at night and in the early hours of the morning. His hearing loss meant that he needed to achieve a high volume in order to hear himself sing. His humans gave him his very own level of the house at night so he could practice to his heart’s content. 

During the daytime, Gizzy liked to wait for his humans to use the washroom so he could gift them with an impromptu opera with great room acoustics, and delight in the full attention of his audience.

Giz’s favorite place to hang out in his final years was his pillow at the top of the stairs. More often than not, Mitzey would be cuddled up there with him, and they regularly groomed each other, not unlike a human couple who thought they were cats might do.

From this perch, Giz was a lion in a tree, surveilling all the comings and goings of his household in much the same way he used to surveil the neighbourhood, but without the bloodshed. Whenever I would walk up or down the stairs, he would give me a little “hello” chirp, and I’d give him a head rub and a little chat. It was our routine. 

We will always love you, Gizzy, sweet old boy.