Almost 18 years ago, we set off as a family (mom, 4 kids) to the humane society. The goal was to get a dog. The youngest had begged for a dog for a long time--and Dad had put it off for a long time, saying we did not have a fenced yard, so we would have to wait. When we bought the "new" house, neither of the adults saw it---the fenced in area for the former owners dog---but were now trapped in the parental promise!!! So, having read the books, we were in search of a family-friendly dog.
We found her (but that is another story line). While there, "Mr. Cat" found us. He was a few ounces of fur, unceremoniously dropped off by a person that did not want him or his litter mates---the result of some random pairing of perhaps not even their own cat, but a mama who choose their garage, or whatever. He was unwanted.
I don't remember which one suggested that we also look at the adorable kitties (but I suspect it was the oldest--having great attachments with two former "family" cats). We had been Cat people--and somehow this little ball of fluff made himself so adorable, that I caved, and we came home with a cat and a dog! The kids said later that he chose me...which may have been true.
The first week was rocky--he got kennel cough and almost died. He lost weight (they had been dropped off before they were weaned). He had fleas, and the treatment to rid both pets of them almost rid us of him too. But, he was a trooper, and grew to be an enormous tiger cat--akin to the folk drawings of wide-bodied felines. His given name was "Turbo", selected by child 3 based on the way he raced around as a kitten. An just like all other males in my household, he was never called by his first name. He became Herr Katza--Mr. Cat, which fit him perfectly. As in, "Mr. to you" cat. He as our "cat-man!"
He was a "lover", but on his own terms. He thought he was over 6 feet tall, being toted around on the shoulders of two tall teens for many years. He had an affinity for ear lobes, being removed from his mother too soon. He had a love/hate relationships with the dog, which entertained us regularly with something akin to the world wrestling federation! When she died, he never got over it, which sent him in to a deep depression.
He had "adjusted" as each child left, turning his attention more and more to the two grownups left. He weathered the move to a new house, and found new challenges to living in a house in the country, where watchfulness might reward you with a rodent, or at least a good chase. He was instantly and strangely attracted to wicker porch furniture purchased shortly after the dog died, and made it his favorite place for all the months it was warm enough to survey his world from the screen porch. He made the most of the Happy Cat Pet Bed, the Special Kitty pet Bed, and the "Love Bucket" for cats, in rotation--during the day! At night, most nights, he persistently found a way to sap body heat from one of the two owners.
He once triumphantly presented an eviscerated chipmunk, which he had "taken down" when it invaded his space. (See prior post) That, we suspect, was the beginning of his end--a chipmunk that had probably ingested some poison. He rapidly lost weight. Within a year, the vet diagnosed a "liver mass". We declined exploratory surgery. We tried medicines for awhile, but he rejected them. Finally, we decided to give in, and just let him chart the course. The hospice began.
There was food finickiness. He was adamant about his porch time. He started sleeping as close as you would allow him to your head. He walked slower, stopped being an aerialist, and finally stopped trying to help with the knitting, enjoying instead a snuggle in the products of the needles. We almost forgot that this was not normal--until a visitor would comment on our "skinny cat". We adapted as we went along--and finally, his food (previously delivered on the kitchen island long after any need for keeping his food away from the dog existed) moved to the floor, as he could no longer negotiate the tall leap.
He continued to enjoy porch time in his favorite chair and serious lap/TV time with the grown ups. He never complained. The sweet and loving disposition was there until the end. In the end, it was the body that give out. His little sparkly eyes were there, even though the legs could not longer move the body that was really just his bones, covered with fur.
Although we are sad, remember the 17.5 years of unconditional love he supplied to the family he made his own. He was a special friend to each of us and dimension of our shared experience as a family. His remains will be fittingly placed with his best friend, his dog, whom he never stopped missing.
Our house is quiet now, without his "comments", the thunks of his jumps, the "tink" of his tag, the sound of the cycling of the auto litter box--each gone. We can read the newspaper without moving a limp, protesting cat around on the print. One can eat their cereal without having to protect the bowl from his desire to share the milk. When one finishes with yogurt, there is no need to scrape out the last bits for the hovering demanding cat. Ice cream is your own! Potato chips are not knocked from your hand on the way to your mouth. Making a ham sandwich does not require that you hold the ham high in the air! We can now walk through a darkened house with confidence that we will not be tripped, and can sit anywhere we please without looking first. It is a different lifestyle with no cat litter tracks to sweep up.
He was am amazingly old cat who had a great life, and despite his failing body, enjoyed what he could until the end! He loved each of "his people" and those they added to our family, even tolerating the annoying "grand dog" that would occasionally show up to spend the weekend.
The old cat chart does not go high enough to capture his age--but around 108 is probably close. 17.5 years is a long time---He will be missed, not forgotten, but also not replaced. It takes too many years to teach them how to knit!
