Fiber Follies

Catnip began the journey to his next place at mid-aft 14 January.

It had been a sad morning. He was sweet and weak, not improved at all but trying to act as if he felt better. I’d fed him twice but at the third feeding he simply nibbled then lay forlorn, unmoving. He was bleeding and leaking urine. I washed him up with baby wipes, bundled him in soft towels to dry then diapered him. It was not long til we were to set off to the veterinary.

I propped him up on the cat tree by the big front window, the window where he’d loved to watch over the years. Not a squirrel nor bird nor even insect escaped his notice. He’d run to that window for a good viewing when thunder banged and lightning lit the sky. It was his window, the others were generously allowed to sit there too but it was always his window. So was the kitchen window, where he’d watch more often in winter when the radiator immediately underneath made it such a lovely warm place to observe the outdoors.

I propped him on that cat tree and took a few pictures. He opened his eyes long enough for one sweeping gaze across his domain then shut them in pain.

That was Catnip’s last look. He barely opened his eyes after that moment. I put him gently into his cushy kitty cup and set the whole thing into the carrier. I figured it would be warmer than just having a pad underneath and a blanket covering the carrier. He was always a fairly quiet traveller. All his life he’d not whine nor howl too much in the car, but absolutely hated it. He’d simply give me the mighty piss-eye then vomit or spew diarrhea. And pee. Almost every car trip resulted in a boy-cat-pee smell strong enough to make the angels faint.

I spoke with my loyal little fellow a bit during the ride. Somehow I felt that this was it. I didn’t want it to be, hoping that one more expression would have him feeling like getting well and eating and terrorising the other cats. But I watched him during this ride, and kind of knew. I believe that he did, too. His eyes were shut most of the ride, I wasn’t sure if he’d decided to peacefully pass right there in the car. But no, if I spoke his name or favourite nickname loudly, he opened his eyes, a little surprised, quite concerned. Just like that cat, to show concern over me when he was in such a dire condition.

Through good times and bad, Catnip was loyal. He appointed himself my bodyguard, my guardian angel, my best bud. Precious Child was his first choice when he came here to live, but she was at that late-teens age where work and school and best friends kept her away quite a bit. So he came to me by default and stuck by my side ever since.

His life with me scrolled over in my mind as we drove.

I met him shortly after meeting The Husband, who I had not yet begun dating. I was at The Husband’s place of business, chatting with an employee, when this charming skinny little black cat leapt onto my lap and proceeded to cough and hack. It was pretty gross but he was so friendly I let him stay. Soon the coughing was replaced with purring. After a few more minutes he leapt off my lap, leaving an oily dusty body print on my suit.

Some months later, Precious Child went to work at that shop. She was enamoured of the cat and the dog there. One day she and The Husband found Catnip in acute discomfort, barely breathing. They rushed him to the vet where he was medicated for asthma. He was on those medications for the rest of his life. Another day they arrived to find him pestering a chipmunk he’d caught. PC wrestled the poor bedraggled chippie from a very peeved Catnip and took it to a place where it could beat a hasty retreat. I was regaled with tales of how this cat hunted and pranced and picked on the dog. He was a favourite.

Eventually I was to wed The Husband and tried a go working at his shop. Catnip was quite happy to have me there. He loved all women, so having another to adore was fine. His asthma worsened so we chose to move him to our house, away from the chemicals used at the shop. We’d just bought the house, but had not yet taken residence, planning to do so after the wedding a few days later.

That cat fought and shrieked and tried to rip the windows out of the truck as I drove! I didn’t think to put him into his carrier. Big mistake. I had a serious wrestling match trying to capture him to bring him into the house, where he slunk into a corner and sulked for a few days. Soon he realised that he owned the place, and strutted happily about.

Precious Child was his first love here. He followed her like a dog. She’d get up from one chair to sit in another, he got up and followed a half-step behind. She went to the bathroom, he followed a half-step behind, then waited patiently at the door until she emerged. One evening he followed her into her room as I prepared dinner. I peeked in to see them both sound asleep, face to face.

Her activities carried her away more and more, and he defaulted to me.

About a month after bringing Catnip here, we met, fell in love with, and brought home two kittens. The story behind the girls is sketchy but we couldn’t decide on which of the two to keep. I adored the little fluffball, PC was more thrilled with the more aloof girl. So both came home.

Catnip was livid. He hated those babies. They were too little and innocent to understand his churlishness and just went about their business, which drove him crazy. He often hid in my bedroom closet, hissing when I opened the door. He ran whenever one of the babies came along. After about two weeks of this, he realised that he was much bigger than the girls and decided to be alpha cat, which he remained for years.

I looked over at my suffering boy on that last ride and asked if he remembered the day we inflicted him with the girls. He barely twitched his ears.

Catnip had a few episodes of illness with his asthma then started a new chronic disorder to accompany that. He was developing crystals and passing them in his urine. He had surgery once for a resultant blockage. He was treated with prescription food. That was when he padded up into a rather large fellow. Turns out the food is high in fats and the steroids used to treat the asthma worked together to create a fat cat. Over time he developed a recurrent yeast infection in his ears which was pretty gross to treat. He hated having his ears tidied up and oiled with medicine but was quite happy when his ears were healthy.

I busily set about turning over huge lawns into gardens. Catnip was often let out to roam and to exercise but usually tired of outdoors within a half hour. One day I worked ‘way out by the roadside, where he refused to join me. Instead, he sat on the front step, howling and hollering for me to come home. He was let out with us fairly often as he was good about staying near. Then I discovered the perils of outdoors cats, and made him stay indoors unless harnessed and at my side. He was quite handy at escaping. One fine January day we enjoyed great thaw and near springlike temperatures. I’d opened windows round the house just a little bit for a rush of fresh air. Some time later I realised he was gone! A hunt revealed him huddled at the door. He’d squeezed his bulk through a window then couldn’t get back in. He had to be quarantined for a month, just in case of exposure to dreaded infectious diseases. I decided to give him and the other cats the vaccines normally given to outdoors cats. Who knew what he’d got into on those escapades that could be brought home and passed to the other cats. He got ear mites often but that stopped once he was 99% indoors cat.

Risky had joined the household and he held the same contempt for her as he had for the girls. Nowadays Charly was his girlfriend. Shortly after Risky was turned into the house with the other three cats, I heard a screaming. I dashed to the bedroom where the shrieks had originated and Risky ran up the front of me. I glanced down to the floor, where Catnip’s face leered out from under the bed, a “beard” of Risky’s fur lining his mouth. Risky was terrified of him for a while but quickly grew into a cat of impressive proportions. She was Catnip’s match from that time on. They eventually settled into tolerance punctuated by moments of cameraderie.

Catnip was a beautiful cat, even when he was a great fat hog. I nicknamed him Fatnip, which often slipped out even the last months when he had gone so thin. His favourite nickname was Puddy-Pat. I don’t condone speaking baby-talk but somehow he became my Puddy-Pat. He would come running on hearing me sing out: “poooooooooodeeeeeeepaaaaaaaaaat! Oh, POOOOOOOOOOdeeeeeeeeepaaaaaaaat!” There were other names, mostly fat names, all of which he proudly answered to. And no matter how roly-poly he was, he had the most amazing green eyes.

He was a cat with an enormous silliness, a great love of fun and adventure.

Catnip loved the vacuum. He’d bat at the hose attachment and I learned to give him a quick once-over when vacuuming. He didn’t like when his tail got sucked into the hose and flapped noisily inside. I had to be careful, since he’d sidle forward and back against that hose, and it was easy to catch his tail.

My poor little Catnip lay so still on that last ride. It was hard to remember him such a strapping silly oaf.

The day came when Mabel joined the home, soon followed by the Boys. Mabel wasn’t a problem to Catnip, he just ignored her shenanigans. The Boys were a very different story. With blood in his eye, he set out to murder them, especially Tuie. I tried separating them and re-introducing them three times over the next three or four months, then gave up. Pheromones proved absolutely useless amongst my battle-cats. This situation was far too stressful on Catnip, the Boys and me. I resorted to rotating cats. Every few days I’d have one set of cats in the office and the rest in the house. If the Boys were in my office, Catnip was in the house. And vice versa. I swapped their litter pans, cushions, blankets and toys too. That was a ton of work but it kept us all sane. I did finally put him on antidepressants and re-trained him. The antidepressants mellowed him just enough to get him to not try to kill Tuie. I weaned him off them and he remained on an even keel. By that time he was pretty emaciated. Blood and urine tests showed no illnesses but he drank a ton and turned the litter pans into adobe every time he peed. He ate great heaps of food but kept getting thinner. He was happy and playful though. He’d try the hiss-and-run sometimes then run like hell. He climbed and jumped and spent great chunks of time begging for food or looking out “his” windows. He did start to pee anywhere when one of the other cats angered him. I bought him a doggie training diaper and lined it with maxi pads. Then he could pee whenever he wanted. He preferred to wait until he was in the litter pan but it was good insurance. It looked awfully cute on him too.

I looked over to him, calling to see if he responded. I noticed it was a rather grey day. He weakly lifted his head, then let it down, never opening his eyes.

September came and Risky’s horrible death coloured everything for both of us then. We’d by this time had nearly nine years together. I had figured that his mystery illness would off him in a year or so and mourned a little more thinking of it.

Nine years, almost to the month. He’d moved here in August ‘99, I’d known him almost a year before that. He’d decided that I needed him as guardian angel, bodyguard, shadow, and forever loyal companion. I went through some emotional rollercoasters over those years and he never trembled in his stalwart support. When I was frantic with sadness and anger he’d come sit at my side, quietly, then start purring. I wept into his fur a while, then was again strong enough to carry on. Poor old fellow. I never thanked him all those times. He did blame The Husband for any contretemps between us, once pooing on TH’s toothbrush and another time pooing on his dirty laundry in the basement. No matter who was angry Catnip decided that it was The Husband to blame and acted accordingly.

We reached the veterinary. The waiting room was vacant, an event I’d never seen in that frenetically busy practice. I spoke quietly with Catnip but he didn’t respond. Within a few moments it was time to go in.

The sun had peeped out from the clouds a few times through the morning. His mid-day meal remained mostly untouched. This was bad, for if nothing else, Catnip had kept his appetite. He’d gone paralysed sometime on 10 January so it was now the fourth day of disability. He had seemed to weaken a little more each day. On Sunday night while sat next to me on the sofa, he purred and gave my hand one of his characteristic love-bites, enough to really pinch but not to break the skin. There were times over the years when his love-bites drew blood, and that one time he’d bit me to the bone but certainly not in a moment of love!

I cleaned him up and put his diaper on. I’d have not bothered but he was leaking bloody urine. He’d remain warmer if the fluids were contained in the maxi-pad liner instead of running all over his back end. I brought in my camera, thinking I ought to get some images of my boy, for surely there wouldn’t be many more chances to do so. I set him in a spot of warm sunlight. He just closed his eyes. I lay next to him and talked but he only opened his eyes once, when I called him Puddypat in that silly sing-song voice. I propped him on the cat tree and took a few pictures. He swept the view one last time then shut his eyes. I put him into his kitty cup and covered him with a towel, he just closed his eyes without the usual snuggling down. He looked — he looked defeated. I think we both knew that these were our last moments together.

He lay still on the examining table. The doctor said that she thought it was time. It was. There was no option that wouldn’t require further suffering, discomforts and emotional difficulties. I removed his diaper, there was no reason for him to be bothered by garments now. I rang The Husband and sat with my PuddyPat cuddled in my lap until TH arrived. I talked and talked and wept and talked some more.

A little spot was shaved from his hind leg. The needle slid in. I leaned down to him, and my beloved Catnip gazed into my face. He expired gently, tenderly, and in a manner so dignified that he’d have been quite pleased with himself.

For that boy had no time for dignity in life. He just wanted to live and fight and hunt and play and love and have fun. He saved his dignity for the very last.

Catnip. I am sorry for all the bad times. You remained loving and loyal throughout.

I especially thank you for your life, which you gave wholly and unreservedly, to me. I didn’t deserve such good fortune. Thank you, my loyal friend. Thank you, my faithful companion. Farewell, and God speed.