My cat, my friend, Toby, passed away this past Friday (8/10/2007). He seemed fine in the morning as my wife and I were getting ready for work; he laid down in the kitchen sometime in the early afternoon and never got back up. Picking him up, putting him in his crate and taking him to the vet's was one of the hardest things I've had to do. We both lost it as we said our goodbyes.
He's been in my life since '98 or '99, when my wife (then just a friend) convinced me to adopt him from the local vet's office. She and her mom had been taking their cats there for a while, and he was the office cat. Apparently people would adopt him and then return him; when I adopted him, the representative from the vet's office told us so, and asked several times whether or not we were sure about our decision.
When I brought him home, he was timid. He hid under my bed for a few hours, only coaxed out by the offer of tuna. After a few months, he and my roommate's cat, Syn, were close friends. We would come home from work or shopping and find the two of them curled up on the couch, looking at us like a couple of teenagers caught in the middle of necking. He and Syn lived together for a year or two.
We moved to a few more houses and apartments before finally settling here, in lovely upstate New York. He and I stayed at my Mom's on and off a couple of times. He
loved being there, because she would spoil him with tuna and treats. He also got to go outside (it was the only place where he was allowed to do so).
His going outside lead to some interesting experiences. He would swat at us when it snowed or rained (he was angry at us over the weather). When one of us would finally go outside to shovel a path, he would walk behind us in a kind of a kitty goosestep (the "step, shake water off, step, repeat" walk).
It was also cute to get to watch him learn how to hunt. He would blunder across the yard at first; scattering the birds or squirrels he was hunting. After several months, he adopted the expected crouch and crawl approach.
Living with him wasn't without its struggles. He would often urinate on carpets or beds. It came down to a couple of things: the litter pan had to be clean, and no bags or clothes could be on the floor. He was also
declawed when I adopted him; he would often bite at the pads of his feet, trying to get his claws out. It was heart-breaking, especially after he got infections from chewing too much.
He loved boxes; he would often chew on the edges of the box (we called it remodelling). He also loved, in no particular order: treats (Temptations), crinkly paper (newspapers, brown paper bags), cat nip, bouncy balls, his snake, tuna, and watching birds, chipmunks, squirrels and anything that moves.
Earlier this year, I came home to a very sick Toby. He was vomiting clear, foamy liquid, and defecating on the carpet. We rushed him to the emergency clinic, where he stabilized on his own, and they diagnosed him with diabetes. Our vet confirmed it, and started him on 3 units of insulin twice a day, along with a special diet. (Hills Special Diet m/d. Yes, the only Hills dry food recalled after the wheat gluten scare earlier this year).
He responded well (aside from getting harassed twice a day by the stupid humans who insisted on sticking sharp things in his back). Actually, Robyn said he seemed to know that it was helping him. It wouldn't surprise me. He was intelligent and empathic, more so than most cats I've met. Frighteningly so, sometimes. You could see the wheels turning when he was thinking, plotting or scheming.
I'll miss him. He was our Bud Bud,
Señor Gato,
Señor Stenchy, Sweet Boy, Tobias,
Tobalah, and "My Kitty!". He was my friend, my companion, my buddy, my guard cat and my cuddle kitty. He spoke like
Cartman in our minds, and like a ray gun in real life.
Sleep well, Toby. I love you, and I miss you.
