The naming of cats is a difficult matter... T.S. EliotI believe Brushy only had one name though. Brushy.
Brushy showed up as a skinny stray shortly after we moved to Equinox Farm and it took awhile to tame him down. He would sneak up on the porch at night to eat and was hungry enough that he'd let me sit out there as he did, but would growl (as he continued to eat) if I tried to touch him. One night however I decided to try to touch the top of his head instead of his back and as I did, he immediately bumped up into my hand and was completely tame from that very second on.
He went to the vet, passed all his tests and got his shots and 'tutored' and immediately settled in. Three mornings later he brought Claire Bear home. Claire Bear was a tiny kitten and I don't know if she was a relative or not, but regardless, Claire Bear was obviously Brushy's cat. They were inseparable and she got to stay as well.
Claire Bear was somehow named right away. Brushy went for weeks as "kitty". We tried all sorts of names, but nothing stuck. One day I asked him directly, "Hey kitty, what is your name?"
"Brushy."
Clear as day in my head. I told Saint Tim and while he didn't think it so strange that the cat shared his name with me, he agreed it was not a suitable "family use" name. We continued to try other monikers. A few weeks later I again said "Kitty, we really need a name for you."
"Brushy."
Brushy it was.
Brushy would walk anywhere with me. He especially loved to go out to the Frog Pond. That was a trip worthy of
all the cats and we enjoyed relaxing out there together on summer evenings listening to the farm put itself to bed. Brushy would sit next to me, Eli would sit off by himself and Claire Bear would entertain us all with her mad hunting skills.
Brushy was also the protector of the family. Shortly after Boo came to live with us, he learned this the hard way. Boo was a cat chaser early on and got in a lot of trouble for it. One day I caught him chasing Eli onto the porch. I ran after him, yelling and hitting him with a dish towel. At my side was Brushy, running on his hind legs hissing and slapping Boo as he made a hasty retreat.
More than anything, Brushy wanted to be a house cat. With the darling Wiwi in the house, this was not just not possible. For the last few weeks though, as Brushy's been ill, we moved him inside, out of the cold. Wiwi did get "paddled" a few times for bad behavior, but Brushy ignored her and enjoyed sitting on the couch in front of the fire. Two nights ago he sat out in the wool house with me and we read a sheep book. He was not much interested though and I knew the end was near.
Brushy was an exceptional cat.