He Was the Best of Cats. He Was the Worst of Cats.

January 16, 2011

He was the best of cats. He was the worst of cats.” If ever there were a headstone carved for Mikey, that’s what it would have to read. No cat could get under your skin quite like Mikey could. I had often told Bob that if Mikey had opposing thumbs, we’d have to leave the house to him and just move on.

He had Cattitude. Cattitude unlike any other creature I had ever known. If I told him “no,” that only meant “keep at it until you beat her down.” Food was his obsession. How to grab it—and by “grab it” I mean an up to your wrist grab (one of his many nicknames was “Jaws.”), how to beg it, how to steal it from everyone else in the house or if all else failed, just get it yourself. That meant spending the day trying to figure out how to open cabinet doors, unlock closets (we finally resorted to keeping iron chairs up against the door that held the pet food), unscrew closed containers of kibbles, how to wait until the refrigerator door was opened, jump in and grab the package of prosciutto and take off with it before anyone even realized it happened or to constantly cruise the counter tops (to the equally constant tune of “MIKEY, GET OFF THE COUNTER!!!!”) and sink in search of any food waiting to be eaten. Nothing was safe. Not a biscotti or a loaf of bread (the ones right from the bakery were favored). Not a crumb of anything was left uneaten or unstolen.

The face says it all!

To say that he drove the dog insane was also an understatement. If she walked away from her kibbles (she is a painfully slow eater), they were officially his. The dog could growl, snap, snarl, bark, make faces….it didn’t matter. The second her back was turned, there he was in her dish again, grabbing a mouthful and departing until the bowl was wiped clean or the dog was forced to eat it quickly or have no dinner at all.

No one, and I mean NO ONE, could ever make our mild mannered, sweet- tempered dog quite as crazy as Mikey could. She reserved her “Yuck Face” only for him. It was never accompanied by a loud grow. It was just a face she hoped we wouldn’t catch her making at him. If he had thumb, it would have been on his nose saying, “Back atch, Sister!” It didn’t phase him in the least!

He ruled the home with an iron paw—err—fist…. There was never a doubt who Alpha Pet was, and he flaunted his title.

He was Yoda, our feral cat’s tormentor, almost until his dying day when they finally made peace. When he took over her bed last week and I found her dozing peacefully on the chair which the bed was under, closer to him than she had ever been without a fight, I believe she told him she forgave him.

Mikey was Bookie’s (the feral male brother to Yoda) constant sparring partner. And since Mikey was indeed the fastest eater in the house, it meant that the last bites of Bookie’s food were always his. In fact, there was pretty much nothing in the house that wasn’t his….And I mean NOTHING.

Words not necessary!

Nor was there anywhere he considered sacred as far as where he decided he would pee. 11 litter boxes later, I was all but following him around the house with one under his tail. Yet still he would find a new location for my mop in the morning. He kept me slim with the workouts involved in keeping him looked after. And he seemed to enjoy it and flourish from the amusement of watching my doing his bidding. Today, as I clean up after him one last time, I can’t help but feel he is somewhere laughing at the surprises I will find for weeks to come.

One would have thought he would have made the perfect “only cat in the house” except for the fact that three years ago we found yet another abandoned kitten in a bank parking lot and brought her home. In light of his track record with the feral female, we half expected him to try to kill her in her sleep. Instead, he shocked us by falling madly in love with her. Unfortunately, rather than her causing some positive changes in his personality (she is a sweetie), he took her under his very big wing and taught her every bad trick he knew. She became the Bonnie to his Clyde, and joined in the fun of tormenting the other two cats. But that’s another story.

I should add that my cats have always been “indoor only” animals. Which leads me to his second obsession. ESCAPE. Pure and simple, if a door opened, Mikey bolted. Like lightening! He seemed to delight in having me chase him around the house frantically trying to get him back indoors. Unfortunately for him, the adoption of a border collie cut that time short when she was taught the trick called “get the kitty in the house.” He always followed up being nipped in the butt to get him back indoors by hiding in the doorway and smacking her in the backside as she came inside feeling very proud of her task. It was a game they played.

Mikey was a sick cat. After many blood tests, his sickness was diagnosed years ago as a possible slow moving cancer. That is what eventually caught up with him. But since it moved slowly, and he was treated so royally, I am sure he outlived any life he would have had in a less patient household. He really tried to be good sometimes, I think. But every once in a while, something would flair up and there would be hell to pay with the clean up. At one point this summer, when the disease was progressing, I decided maybe he should be allowed outside for brief periods of time to “get things out of his system.” But as always with Mikey, there had to be a game involved to make it interesting.

The game went like this. Every morning as I worked at my computer, I would “accidentally” leave my window open. He would carefully sneak onto my chair by the window and bolt outside. To make it as enjoyable as it could possibly be, I then had to pretend to call him frantically. I could see just the tip of his tail poking from the ledge around the house. He was only far enough out of sight to make me crazy, so he thought. And oddly, he never ventured far enough away to be in any peril from the great outdoors. It was just a game. If I wanted him in, all I had to do was close the window. He would appear in two seconds flat when he heard the window being cranked shut and start howling and clawing at it like I had just abandoned him in the Amazon jungles. I’d open it and in he’d fly, twitching his tail in annoyance at my stupidity and arrogance, to the safety of his bed in the sun by Frisco’s bed. Frisco. His Lady Love.

A pensive moment

When his illness caught up with him a few weeks ago, there was talk of how to handle his last days. Yes, he was an enormous amount of work. His behavior had worsened. There were floors to mop, cat and dog beds to launder, and rugs to clean on a daily basis. It was not an easy day. But he seemed to be in no pain. He seemed content to just spend more time in his bed next to Frisco in the sunshine. His appetite was not quite so ravenous, but he never missed his thyroid pills which came pocketed in a piece of prosciutto before each meal. His life was still filled with challenges of getting food, eating food, and driving us nuts, just at a slower pace.

There was never a question that I should just “mop and move on,” until 10 days ago when his once ravenous appetite suddenly ceased. With a dog, I think it is easier when they come to their end to take them to a vet and assist in their departure. Dogs are at home with their people no matter where that leads them, and just having their people and getting a ride in the car with them is a comfort. Cats are different. A cat loves its home. As anyone who has ever owned a cat and moved a piece of furniture in the house knows, a cat simply doesn’t like changes. Nor does it delight in a car ride to the vet or anywhere else for that matter. We decided to respect that. Mikey always lived on his own terms. We wanted him to end his life that way too, as long as he didn’t seem to be in pain. And he didn’t. He still spent his days walking around to see what I was up to but basking in the sun more than usual, eating much less, bullying everyone not at all, and losing weight quickly. Yesterday, for the first time in his life, he refused to eat anything. As it was with all cats I have ever had the pleasure of living with, I knew this was truly his last day. We cancelled a planned overnight trip and decided to spend his last day with him. We lit a fire for him and hung out in the living room by his bed, and even in his weakened state, he continued to follow us if we moved to another room. He wanted to be close. He finally admitted after a lifetime of indifference, that he wanted to be with us. And so it went. Mikey ended his life as he lived it. On his own terms. We were happy to be by his side.

One may now be asking, why do you weep so pathetically for such a cat whose behavior sounds so far from admirable. Quite simply, he was the most interesting creature who ever graced our home. He was by far the most intelligent. He was the most passionate. He was the strongest. The most determined. He caused the most laughs. He caused the most tears. And I believe in so many ways, he was the best loved cat ever.

When a dear pet finally makes its departure, I think it evokes feelings we’ve had for all those we have ever loved and lost throughout our entire lives. Their innocence dredges up years of sweet memories of those we’ve loved. Those memories intertwine with memories of the pet and all the love it gave so willingly, reopening painful wounds of loss once again. And in many ways, I believe it also causes us to contemplate our own mortality.

Until his dying day, Mikey got us to do his bidding. When he passed, he was where he wanted to be and with those he wanted to be with most. He departed on his own terms, and in his own time. May we all be so lucky. Godspeed on your journey, Old Boy. You were the best of cats. We will miss you dearly.

Mikey is survived by two loving humans, 7 harassed birds, Frisco, Yoda, Bookie and Shelby. He left behind a host of adoring fans around the country who came to know him through someone who put words to the thoughts she could see churning in his ever active imagination. Nothing will ever be the same without him.