Cat in the clouds
Observatory mascot, who went from stray to mainstay, dies
|
|
Nin, the mascot at Mount Washington Observatory for 12 years, died at an estimated age of 20 last week. Photo Provided |
Toolbox
By Susan Smallheer Staff Writer - Published: July 24, 2009
This is a story about a cat that made nice, made good, caught mice and died petted and loved by thousands.
Nin, a stray from the genteel streets of Putney, sought his fame and fortune on the summit of Mount Washington and was the resident mascot at Mount Washington Observatory for 12 years until his retirement 18 months ago.
Nin, who died last week at the estimated age of 20, had a wonderful life as memorialized in the 2009 book, "Cat in the Clouds," a children's book by Eric Pinder of Berlin, N.H., a former weather observer at the observatory.
Nin showed up at the Putney home of meteorologist Mark Ross-Parent and his then-fiancé Susan Roszkowski in 1995, and the young couple quickly took the friendly stray in.
"Nin just showed up one day and marched right in," said Pinder, who worked with — and around — Nin for seven years.
Nin was not short for nincompoop, said Pinder, who returned home this week to learn his feline muse had died on July 14 at the home of his caretaker family in Gorham.
He was a white cat with debonair black accents and was named for Anais Nin, a French-born American writer famous for her friendship with Henry Miller and for her books about erotica.
But, according to Pinder, there were already two other equally literary cats in the household, Beckett and Marlowe, and the three cats didn't get along.
Ross-Parent was commuting to the Mount Washington Observatory from Putney while his fiancé was teaching French at Putney School, and eventually the decision was made to bring the snow-white Nin to the snow-clad Mount Washington.
The couple originally thought Nin was a girl, hence the name, but time revealed Nin's true gender, Pinder said, but by then the name was permanent.
The weather observatory, perched on the top of the 6,288-foot mountain, has a grand tradition of cats, including its most famous feline, Inga, who has made the nonprofit observatory a small fortune from the iconic poster, postcards, mugs and magnets of Inga covered with rime ice. There are also postcards and posters of Nin, according to Pinder.
Nin was a good mouser, catching mice or even the occasional flying squirrel, Pinder said. Ravens, the dominant bird at the summit, were bigger than Nin, he said, and in no danger.
In his youth, he loved to hike on a summer day, or loll on the sunny rocks that make up the summit. Once he hiked several miles to Mount Clay and back with some of the observatory interns. He even drank water out of a canteen, Pinder said.
And he greeted many of the visitors to the summit, who either hiked, drove or rode to the top. But he didn't like the winds that buffet the top of the mountain, where the world's highest record wind, 231 mph, was recorded on April 12, 1934.
Brian Clark, one of the current crop of meteorologists, said Nin was a people-cat, pure and simple.
"He was very friendly and he loved the good lap," Clark said Thursday. "He was very nondiscriminatory, whether you were brand new or had been here for 10 years."
After Nin left the summit, a contest was held to select his feline replacement, and a big, longhaired black cat named Marty from a local shelter now roams the observatory.
Mike Pelchat of Gorham, N.H., is the state ranger of the Mount Washington State Park who took Nin home in his final years so he could be closer to medical care.
Pelchat works at the mountain summit too, and said that Nin particularly loved laps clad in Carhart jeans.
Soon after he came off the mountain, Pelchat and his wife, Diane Holmes, another park ranger, felt Nin was moping, and took him to the vet, who discovered he was suffering from a large tumor on his liver.
The couple put him on a strict medical and feeding regimen, with plenty of outdoor exercise, and he seemed to thrive.
But about two weeks ago, he stopped eating, he stopped walking to the litter box, and he was in pain, and Pelchat said he knew it was time to put the beloved cat to sleep.
The veterinarian gave him a final shot for pain, then the euthanasia, and he fell asleep forever, curled up in Pelchat's Carhart-clad lap.
Nin is buried in the Pelchat's back yard, with a view of the northern Presidential Mountains, the same view, Pelchat said, that he had from Mount Washington.
"Cats bring us a lot of comfort and joy," Pelchat said.
susan.smallheer@rutlandherald.com
21