The Life and Times of Mac

McKinley "Mac" Acton

2/2008 - 2/2019

A life well lived, 

A joy brought daily.

A family ever so thankful. 

Mac made me laugh every day he was with us, from that first day in 2009 when I pulled him out of an isolation cage and instead of biting me as warned, he head-butted me.  And that was that.  Something magical happened that day, and I knew it immediately.  Through 10 years of victory and defeat, tumult and calm, Mac has been a constant companion -- a calming presence. The unflappable Mr. Mac -- or "Macaroni" as Erica dubbed him -- seemingly took it all in stride. 

A big guy about the size of an alpha raccoon, he was often mistaken for one by delivery people or workmen, all of whom he'd meet at the door and give them the smell test. He never ate people food, preferred wet in the can and only fish -- but his sweet tooth was dry food because apparently, feral cats don't get much of that.  

Shortly after he moved in, I dropped an open bag of kibble on the kitchen floor and Mac leaped from the counter, hit the floor like a sci-fi vacuum cleaner and started sucking it up in great mouthfuls.  I tried to clean it up as he pushed by me like he was going into hibernation.  Very helpfully, Ann laughed like hell and took pictures.  Finally, we threw in the towel. Mac had won and we all knew it.  This was his kitchen and he took possession by ever after laying in the middle of the floor like a dog.  "Don't move, Mac... we'll work around you" was commonly spoken at our house.

In the pandemonium of a film shoot in our house, with cameramen, sound people, on-screen talent, cables and equipment cluttering the floor, Mac walked through the chaos and found his spot sitting directly under camera #1, where he supervised the invasion for the day.  "That's a hell of a cat!" the director finally said. He was right.

Mac had been feral when we got him, the vet figured he was 18 months old and hadn't actually lived in a home before; he had FIV from fighting with other feral cats, but a more gentle creature I could not imagine. 

When Ann had her knees replaced, he took it as his job to walk behind her everywhere she went during her recovery. We've got film of her walking down a hallway doing PT, and there's Mac walking with her.

He and I chased bats that got in the house...me with the umbrella up high and he herding from the floor.  The first time we set the house on fire, I was cooking chicken in what turned out to be a non-microwavable plastic dish and would have seen the smoke if not distracted by Mac demanding his dinner, so OK, my bad. But the second time was on him because he kicked over the waffle iron off the counter with the sandwich in it -- and then went for help.

He's backed Roosevelt elk out of the yard with a growl that scared me, and then casually wandered back into the house like nothing happened.  He chased a bobcat out of the yard -- running right through the $1,500 invisible fence we had installed to keep him on the property and then AFTER beating hell out of the bobcat, ran back to me THROUGH the same invisible fence as if to say, "Nice little fence ya got here -- kinda tingley."  Not a scratch on him -- and so much for trying to control nature. 

When he brought a baby rabbit home to play with, the ladies of the family were not amused.  And when he hid half a snake under a rug that scared the hell out of our housekeeper and caused an immediate evacuation of her crew -- Mac yawned and flopped down for a nap.  Somehow he ate an entire bird in the living room, leaving only the feathers as evidence... and no trace of the bird ever showed up, not even in his litter box.   

He and I were coming back from Portland and ran smack-on into a snowstorm in the Coast Range, snarling traffic and ditching both cars and commercial trucks. As we wound through the clogged highway, Mac self-appointed himself Lookout Cat and hissed as cars strayed too close to us, growled at the big trucks.  

The Weavers came to visit and as we were welcoming them, Howard glanced down the hall and sees Mac, 20 pounds of Tuxedo Norwegian Forest Cat in full gallop to see who just broke security -- it was an impressive sight to behold, and a lasting memory of hilarity watching Howard throw himself against the wall to let Mac pass, and Mac skidding to a stop in front of him.

And here's some inter-species irony. All the women loved him. They'd come to visit Ann and sit down, Mac would strut around, do some show-stopping stretches while he's checking out the crowd; then he'd jump up on a lap, get cozy, and BAM! he's on second base. "Your cat just put his paw in my blouse" was the normal startled response. 

How can these kinds of antics not make you laugh every day?  He believed his natural enemy was cardboard and while he never played with toys, you bring a cardboard box home and it was game on; Costco day for him was Christmas.  The guy was a riot even when he wasn't trying. 

In 2016 I was treated for an aggressive cancer and the long-term diagnosis was dodgy. We kept it to ourselves because I didn't want to forever be labeled a cancer victim, having to deal with "the look" from friends and then field the ever-present question, "How are you.  Really?"  Now, I guess, I don't really give a damn.  Cancer changes you in ways you cannot imagine, nor explain to others.  

But throughout it all -- and there was much -- Mac was my constant companion, source of amusement and reminder that life isn't just about the years, but about the experiences in those years.  I'm fine now, but heartbroken he has been lost to a disease I survived.  

Life is unique and precious in all its forms. And while it is impossible for something to be "more unique" than anything else, it is possible for it to have a most unique impact.  And Mac had that... a most unique impact on everyone he met.

Mac was my friend, my muse, my playmate and only through the mysteries of nature did he happen to be a cat.  

My muse and critic. 

The legend happened to be a cat.

Lookout Cat.

The useless electronic collar.

Resting after a hard day of resting.