Stewcat

My cat died today . . . while I was in NYC. We don't know why or how. He was fine and now he is dead. Of course, we don't know how old he was.

This cat was the world's greatest cat. hands down. It helped that he thought he was a dog, refused to use a litter box and would meow at the door to be allowed out to do his business.

This cat - and let me tell you - I HATE CATS - except for this one. I am really very allergic to cats. The husband worked late nights in a restaurant. Christmas week 2003, he was taking trash out of the kitchen and saw a cat that looked as if he had been starving - he clearly wasn't a very good tom cat. He gave him some scraps and went back to work. Around 1 a.m. he took the last trash out and the cat was still there. It had stayed and waited for him, when it saw him, it got excited and followed the husband back into the kitchen.

The husband, seeing he was starving, and knowing the cold would likely kill the cat, stuck him in a banana box and brought him home. My first reaction was - the cat will live outside, but since it is cold, he can be in the garage.

We didn't have food for the cat, so we fed him left over beef stew. When he stuck around the next day, we gave him more. We named him Stew because it fit.

Stew slept in the garage for about a week, whereafter he migrated to the basement. We'd let him out to do his business and he'd disappear for a long time. Each time, he'd come back matted, limping, bloody. That damn cat not only could not fend for himself in the wild, but he got routinely trounced by the neighbor's female cat.

The time for ball-removal had come. I scheduled an appointment to take Stewie to the vet. The night before the appointment, he disappeared. The morning of his appointment, just before I canceled it, I heard mewing at the door. He had drug himself home after what appeared to have been a bloody battle. His eye had been ripped open and all the vitreous fluid was leaking out. We took him to the vet. He got antibiotics, got neutered, and they put a patch over his eye. I was told to schedule another appointment so that they could remove the eye.

I didn't. His eye healed and was clouded over. He was blind in that eye. However, over the years, it appears it had cleared in spots - I suspect he was able to see light changes and shadow.

Anyway, he never roamed again. He stuck to our yard with a resolve seldom seen in cats. He waited for me to come home. He'd purr like a freight train when I'd bend down and scritch his ears.

Soon, he was living in the house and playing with the dogs. We were a big furry family. He was my cat. Seriously, I am not sure how it happened, but he was mine. He somehow knew I was allergic and didn't really rub against me or nuzzle my face. But every night, he'd climb into my chair with me and sleep. Or, he'd sit on my feet and sleep. Wonderful friend, that cat.

But the thing I loved the most, what really made it seem as if he'd chosen us to be his family was the Boy.

The Boy was barely a year when Stewcat entered our lives. He'd crawl to the cat and bite him. He'd drag the cat around the house by its leg or a tail. That cat would close his eyes, and make a face like he was smiling. he'd go completely limp and let the Boy do whatever he wanted to him. then, he'd stand up, nuzzle the boy and walk away. When the Boy was older and walking, he'd drag the cat behind him. Again, it was as if the cat would go limp and enjoy the ride. You could almost hear him thinking, "do what you want to me, but just love me." THE PURRFECT cat. He really was a special kitty.

In the mornings, he'd wake me up with a small scritch on the door to my room. I'd let him in and he'd watch me go through my morning routine. He'd sit on my bed or under my dresser while I dressed and then he'd sit on my shoes before I'd make it out the door. As if he was aware that I needed silent company in the morning. Late at night, when I worked while everyone else slept, he'd sit on a chair in the dining room right next to me and watch me work.

He was a fun kitty. The Boy once had chicken nuggets for dinner and left one on the table. The cat sat on a chair under the table and reached up with a paw and tapped and felt around on top of the table until he found that nugget. He stole it and ate it happily.

A bowl of cereal or a container of yogurt would cause him to fly instantly to your side. He was always allowed to lick the yogurt container.

He slept with the evil dog. They were best buds, playing together, sleeping together. Running through the yard together. He thought he was a dog.

He'd follow as the Boy would run through the yard, or ride his bike or quad. he'd keep a close watch on everything going on.

I can't believe he's dead and I am here. Everyone said one minute he was fine, rolling in the yard and the next he was dead. I tend to think he may have gotten into some poison.

I will miss my cat. My buddy, who would roar like a freight train and growl like a dog, at the dogs, and talk to me when it was late - as if he was admonishing me to go to bed.

If I believed in reincarnation, I'd think he was a part of my family long ago. It was as if he was a perfect fit. Goodbye my furry friend. I never thought I'd fall in love with a cat but I did.

As if it could not get worse - I asked the Boy to take care of my cat for me while I was gone. He's been a wreck since I have been gone - no one has told him about the cat. I don't want him to think it is his fault. I'll tell him when I am home. When I can be there. He loved that cat as much as me.