14
years. I have been through losing a home, and gaining several others, marriage,
and divorce, long relationships and short, loss of a job, another marriage, losing
relatives I adored, watching my friend die of cancer, having two nephews,
happiness beyond belief and sadness beyond words, too … But the one single
thing that ripped my chest open, yanked my heart out, and threw it against the
ground, reducing me to a big pile of nothing had to be a 5 pound cat.
But this
is not about me and my grief. It is about the most loved and adored cat there
was – my buddy cat, Fero.
I
adopted him when he was 3 months old, when my former husband wanted a cat that
behaves more like a dog. My husband was adamant about an Abyssinian. I didn’t
care. I just wanted a cat. And a dog Fero was. But he was also a human, and a
cat. And so much more. An angel, a total pig when it came to eating, and a
motorboat, too.
Fero died
this morning, after a long time of fighting whatever reduced him to 5 lbs (from
14) and about a month of fighting kidney failure. The way out was not his choice
entirely, and I hope that one day I can forgive myself for making that choice.
And I really wish dearly that people would stop telling me that I did the right
thing!
I don’t
think there ever was a person that ever, in 14 years, met him, even for one
minute, that doesn’t remember him! His favorite thing in the whole world
besides food was the doorbell. He loved to greet everyone when there was ever
any movement at the door, and that included us, and the plumber, too. He talked
to everyone. He asked them how they were, in his sweet growl and told them
about his day, in his soft voice too. Someone who would only see him once, like
an electrician or a contractor, would say, over years “oh, you have that cool
cat”. They would not remember his name, or my name for that matter, but they would
remember “that cool cat”. I have a coworker who only saw him once, but his
son picked him up and could not believe
the friendliness. He calls him “the purple cat”, although he was not purple.
But he was that unique.
Even
when he was sicker than sick, the nurses would greet me at the door with “Oh,
Ms. Wilson, he has been a chatter box. He has told us all about his life, and
about how much he hates that IV, and he’s asking us about our days, too. He must
be feeling better”. Yes, he was that friendly!
He had
ticked brown hair, beautiful, clear, almond shaped eyes, gorgeous to the very
end. He had a smile on his face and a happy outlook about him. A louder than
loud purr, and a beautiful, kingly allure. He was royal, and he was what you
call “a presence”. You were never not aware that Fero was in the room.
He brightened it up and was the center of the conversation. He made sure of it.
And he was so worth it! He would not live to be a bore.
Whoever
said cats have no personality has never truly met a cat. And whoever said that
cats are selfish creatures, independent and wanna be left alone has never met
Fero! He was completely selfless. He was more in your business than he was in
his. He was at the door when you walked in, next to your lap, when you were on
the couch, on the spare dining room chair, at the dinner table, and right next
to your pillow, when you laid down for a nap.
This just in August - with my nephews, joining us for dinner and a movie, later. Always present.
His
biggest passion was food. He loved everything, or at least he thought he did.
He begged for anything that came out of the fridge, and everything on the
counter, or on your plate. He asked politely, with a tilt of the head, in a
questioning growl that I will miss soooo much, if he could try anything you
were having. Anything. He was always, and I mean always on the island stools
when I prepped for cooking, just watching me carefully. He was always on the
same chair as me, when I was having my breakfast. Even when he was sick last
week, he carefully watched my husband mix the batter for the Thanksgiving pie.
His favorite foods, beside any brand of cat canned food were ham, white chicken
meat, popcorn and potato chips.
He was
not ever a lap kitty. He was too much on alert for the doorbell for that. But
he loved to cuddle. His favorite was to breathe hard in your ear while purring,
or in the root of your hair. And he loved, loved, loved to have his tummy
rubbed. My favorite mornings, here in Utah, were when I would find him in front
of the hot vent in the winters, all stretched out asking for me to rub his
tummy. He purred, forever and he would never get enough …
He
always jumped and was present in the kitchen every single time the fridge
opened, or the pantry door. He was so incredibly smart. They tell you that
Abyssinians will learn words, just like dogs, and will respond to commands. I
don’t like training pets to do things on command much, so I never took the time
to train him. But he definitely learned the word “treats” on his very own!
He
learned the Windows shutdown song, on my Dell laptop. Every time the song would
come on (and he of course was right next to my wrist as I was typing), he
jumped in the middle of the room, and headed for the kitchen. He knew it was
time for a bedtime snack. And I mean, every single one time, in 14 years!
Lately, I muted my laptop, in the hope that he would just chill. It took him
probably about a month flat to figure out that the sound was gone, and he was
now sitting perched over my shoulder on the back of the couch, just so he could
watch my screen. When the screen would turn blue, I was not even closing the lid, but when I
pressed the shut down button and the pictures would disappear – he knew!
He
loved to redecorate my house with his toys. I have a some cat toys, small,
furry things I bought over the years, and people have given me, as gifts for all
my cats, and I keep them in a plastic basket, out of the way. He would
meticulously pull each one out, and spread them all over the dining room floor,
where they would get premium visibility. I listened to him, and only put them
away when I had guests.
I’ll
miss his wet nose in my ears. And his jumping in the middle of the kitchen
every time the laptop shuts off. And his bony fingers mashing and webbing into
mine. I’ll miss the smell of his feet, and of his breath. I’ll miss sharing my
meals with him, and especially the popcorn and my breakfast bar in the morning.
I’ll miss his nose glued to my bedroom door in the morning and to my entrance
door when I come home from work.
14
years. We have watched each other at our worst and our best. I have cradled him
to sleep as a baby and as an old sick
kitty, and he has cradled me, through my many disappointments. At the end of
the hardest day in my life, there was always his reassuring paw on my forearm,
and his soft talk, and his deep, brown eyes, and his friendly tilt of his bony,
earful head. He’s made me love cats more than I thought possible before, and he’s
made me hate people more. I just hope I gave him at least an ounce of what he
has given me.
When I
adopted him 14 years ago, I signed a piece of paper that made me promise I
would care for him, that I would not declaw him, and I would not allow flees,
worms or any kind of parasites to live in or on his body. That I would not hurt
him, or adopt him further to other people. I kept that promise religiously for
every single day of every single one of those 14 years. Except … for the past
months, where he’s been sick. I could not shield him from this one. The Big
one! I could not. I did not know how. And I will never forgive myself for it,
either!
Even
skinny, he was still joyful, happy and communicative – till the kidney failure
set in. And then, a week ago, he stopped eating. I knew he was near the end
when my baby stopped eating. Stopped begging for food, and stopped jumping in
the kitchen every time the silverware drawer would open. Then, two days ago, he
stopped drinking. And then moving on his own.
I am
not running through this to give myself absolution. This was also part of his
life. The very sad, but fortunately, very short, part of his life. He trusted
me blindly. I moved him across the country and I would crate him every single
day in the car ride, and he never fought it. He talked and talked in the car,
but I think he was asking for explanations. Oh, how I wish I could give those
to him!
I am
not quite sure how I’ll move on from here, but like Churchill said … I’ll have
to just keep going. Blindly, and hurt, and down, I will keep crawling, and
praying that my Fero is well and we shall meet again, on a sunny, beautiful
pasture, somewhere.
They
say kitties go to kitty heaven when they die, but I swear Fero would love a
people heaven. Full of good hearted people that would listen to his stories and
would feed him whatever they could spare.
Wherever
he is now, I hope he’s free of pain, and there is plenty of foods and toys for
him to enjoy. I hope it’s warm, and there is a vent he can purr by. I also hope
they have a Windows, not a Mac, computer with a Windows XP song.
There is no way I could ever, in a million words, even begin to do justice to this amazing cat! I am just trying to leave a mark in time about his beautiful givings to us, and I am just trying to get this out of my chest, as it smothers me. As it should!
I am
forever humbled that this unbelievable creature has spent most of his short
life with me. I will never be the same because of his passing, but mostly
because of his life and what he has taught me. Egyptians worshiped cats, and now I know why.
Rest in peace, little buddy. Until we shall meet again, momma loves you forever and always just the same.
June 1, 1998 - November 26, 2012
