Adieow to Trinity’s precious Scapecat

by Julie Keselman

Last week marked a monumental change for Trinity University. And no, I’m not talking about President Ahlburg’s inauguration. I’m referring to a serious historical moment that will forever change Trinity’s campus: the death of the Storch cat. On Thursday, Trinity said farewell to its unofficial mascat and welcomed its newest phantom, just in time for Halloween.

Dearest Ms. Possum,

I think I speak on behalf of all of Trinity’s students when I say how sorry I am for your untimely departure. The Facebook event for your memorial speaks to the lasting impact you left upon our campus. Your official name as ordained by the Cat Alliance was “Possum,� but you accumulated many loving nicknames during your life at Trinity: Gremlin, Portkey to Narnia, Ratcat, Scrappy, Storchy, Ghost Cat, Furby, Zombiecat, and my favorite, “Voldestorch.� You were our peer and one of Trinity’s indispensable icons, and we loved to hate you. You were too young to die, and yet too old to still be alive. Just one week from now, I planned to do a photo essay chronicling your daily routine. I chose costumes and everything. I guess I see now how you felt about that—though a simple hiss would have sufficed. You were always private by nature.

I have such fond memories of you: your sunken eyes boring into mine, that time every day I almost kicked you down the stairs, the time you jumped out at me on the way back from the library and almost gave me a heart attack. And who can forget the feeling of astonished horror whenever I found you lurking underneath my car. Good times. Sometimes I wondered what you were thinking about, and now I can only wonder. Whether you were merely a mistreated misanthrope or a devil in a poorly made cat suit, we will never know. Perhaps you were a recovering catnip addict and spent your days enduring withdrawals and the merciless taunts of the Trinity students. Perhaps you were concentrating on stealing my soul, or contemplating a way to get rid of all nine lives in one go. Maybe your nine lives took the form of eight horcruxes, the last of which resides in the tiger outside of the Bell Center. The fact that your death conveniently corresponded with Ahlburg’s inauguration is suspicious. I can only conclude that President Ahlburg is officially the Chosen One. The evidence is overwhelming. Little Benjamin is his Ron Weasley. It all fits!

Poor Voldestorch, you’re even neglected in your obituary. One can hardly blame you for your nefarious ways. To be honest, you were most likely thinking “FML.� Because if anyone understood FML, it was you. But you were an inspiration to Trinity students precisely because your life sucked so badly. Whether we failed a test, received a parking ticket, or ate an undercooked omelet from Mabee, your life was always worse.

Mindy Brent said it best in her e-mail to the Cat Alliance: “I am sure that wherever she is, she now has exquisite, silky fur.� Yes, that’s right. It’s a girl! Too bad we discovered this upon your death instead of your birth.

You know, I’ve never really believed in ghosts. But if there were any creature to prove me wrong, I know it’s you. You hear that President Ahlburg? Voldestorch will rise again! But for now, we say farewell to our little Gorgon. If there is anything that this horrible tragedy can teach us, it’s that a zombie cat’s life is a precious, precious commodity. We will never forget you, our furryish little foe.

Truly,
Julie