Almost exactly 14 years ago my cousin called me and asked me if I could provide a home for a kitten. She and her grandson had been out walking when they spotted the little guy staggering around in the street, not paying attention to traffic. They were afraid he would be hit by a car so they picked him up and took him home. The next day my cousin put up posters around the neighborhood and even took out an ad in the local paper, but nobody claimed him. She and her husband already had three cats, a dog, and two ducks and she didn’t think they could take on another animal. Her grandson lived in an apartment complex that didn’t allow pets so she asked me to take him.
I didn’t really want to. It had been seven months since my beloved Siegie died. My plan was to adopt two from a shelter but I hadn’t really worked around to it emotionally yet. I didn’t want a single cat, but I took him and named him Norman.
Norman was at that string bean stretch kitteh stage when I got him, so probably about three months. The picture above was taken when I had had him about a month or two. Something had obviously gone wrong in his socialization process. He was just socialized to the point where he allowed himself to be handled. He did not play. He did not purr. He did not respond to being petted. He attacked things: The television, the computer monitor, mirrors. Mostly he attacked me. And we’re not talking “nips”. I had scars all up and down my arms. Twice I had to go to urgent care with bad cases of cellulitis after he’d chomped my leg with the psi of a piranha.
So Norman and I had a complicated relationship for the first few years. Though he didn’t grok play, he was very keen on live prey. He was a champion mouser. He liked to hunt spiders and the best thing of all was when a grasshopper would come in the front door with me. He never did learn to play, but he gradually learned to like human affection.
Over the years he became very affectionate, talking to me with a wide range of vocalizations, lying with his head on my feet. Any time my mind was straying toward the dark place just looking at his beautiful face and stroking his silky fur could bring me back. He was a gorgeous cat. He never was interesting in the way most cats are, doing their little busybody cat things, but he had soul. You can see it in his eyes.
Although our relationship improved, he never seemed like a really happy cat, kind of depressed, lacking spirit unless he had live prey to chase. I suspected his early experiences had not been good.
Until, in 2012, Maisie came to live with us. He loved Maisie. Part of the reason I brought her in (She had been a porch cat) was the long sessions of head bunting the two would engage in through the sliding glass door. Once together, they were inseparable. I know it sounds anthropomorphic, but it really did seem like love at first sight.
Last January Maisie died. Norman took it hard. The most food obsessed cat I’ve ever known lost interest in eating. I did everything I could to show him more attention and love and he rallied for a little while, got his appetite back, but a few months ago I began to notice the used litter was heavier when I changed the box. He seemed to be spending more time at his water bowl. A month ago he stopped eating his dry food. He was straining to pass hard little stools. Friday the 13th I finally took him to the vet. He had an elevated temperature, elevated BUN/creatinine and a heart murmur.
A week ago Wednesday they did an echocardiogram and the changes in his heart were consistent with lymphoma. I chose not to have further invasive procedures done on him. The vet suggested palliative treatment with steroids, but he didn’t make it that long. Last Sunday he wouldn’t even eat the Gerber baby meats I’d been feeding him. By afternoon he was whimpering. And Monday morning when he tried to use the litter box he started howling.
I made the heart wrenching decision to end his suffering. Monday evening he made his transition. The vet allowed me to be there and hold him while she administered the pentobarbital even though they still have a drop off only policy. I’m very grateful to have that peaceful gentle image in my mind.
Rest in peace, little buddy. I miss you so bad.