I.
No two cats are the same - different fur markings, facial features, paws, purrs and personalities - but all cats love cardboard boxes ...
I suppose it has something to do with their evolutionary history - the need to seek out safety and warmth in a secure hiding place - though they also seem to find boxes good fun to play with; something they can scratch and sniff and rub against, or jump in and out of.
II.
Phoevos certainly loved his box - maybe not as much as the soft toy he would carry around at times, but more than his scratching post or the expensive cat bed that went entirely unused.
He enjoyed lying on top of the wardrobe and sitting on the windowsill, watching the birds. But his box was the first thing he'd scent mark when he came in from the garden.
III.
Yesterday, I picked up another box - a small wooden casket with a golden plate on which a name was engraved in capital letters: PHOEVOS.
And it's sad to know his ashes are contained within (unlike Schrödinger, I don't need to open the box to determine his status).
So I prefer to remember him fondly as a living cat happy to sit anywhere - any table, any chair [1] - or even in a cardboard box ...
Notes
[1] I'm referencing here the poem 'Cats' by the English author Eleanor Farjeon, which was first published in her verse collection for children titled Sing for Your Supper (1938). Click the link provided to read on allpoetry.com
Farjeon is perhaps best-known today for having written the hymn 'Morning Has Broken' (1931). Lawrentians will also be aware that she and Lawrence were at one time on friendly terms and that she helped him type up bits of The Rainbow.
For a slightly more formal memorial, see the post titled 'Phoevos the Cat: A Life' (5 Nov 2026).
