This was my cat. His name was Spaz, named by my best friend even though I wanted to name him Salem. He was born to feral cats that lived in my bushes. We found him when he was a newborn, he was the runt, abandoned by the mama cat and would have likely died. For weeks I feed him with a baby bottle to take care of him so he would survive. At the time I had no intention of taking in another animal as I had just gotten over the loss of my dog Buffy and my cat Lyger who had both died about a year earlier. But the longer I cared for this helpless little ball of fluff the more I cared for him.
A few years into having him around he got into my medication and he wound up getting really sick, I managed to get him to the vet and he was okay, though he had to get his little kitty stomach pumped. After that I always made sure to keep my meds far away from areas he could get to.
During those first few years he liked to climb up onto my shoulders and ride around, holding on tight whenever I turned a corner. He was also kind of silly, as when he was curious as to what a cricket was when one got inside he went over to sniff it and was kicked in the nose by it causing him to flee. Since then we always made the joke that he lost a fight to a cricket.
When I lost my house during the housing market crash back in the day he took to living in the trailer we eventually wound up in rather well. He loved wandering around the place and especially loved climbing into the bathroom sink and laying down. He loved taking baths, one of the few cats I knew of that enjoyed that. And then one day a roommate left the door open and he got out. For a full week we searched for him and when we found him, he had a large bite given by a dog, there were maggots and necrotic flesh. The vet took a baseball sized chunk of flesh out of him and I had to take care of him again. But he recovered.
During all this he suffered seizures, once every other month or so he would have a seizure. The vets told us he had brain damage and that one day a seizure would make it so he would need to be put down.
When I lost my home again in June I was worried for his stability as stress caused his seizures to get worse, but he did good, he didn’t have any seizures during the three months trying to find a new place. And he got along well with the animals at the new place.
Then three weeks ago he had a strange bump on his neck, not long after he had torn up his neck scratching at it, tearing off large chunks of fur and had bitten away at his tail so it was all gnashed up. Two days ago we got him to the vet. He had multiple cancerous tumors, bleeding ulcers in his mouth, and complete renal failure. I spent so long worrying he would eventually die from his seizures, and in the end it was cancer that took him.
He went peacefully, he was calm and comforted, and since then I have been going through waves of being numb or crying. Because I was so exhausted from taking care of him so he was calm going to the vet, staying up all night with him, singing songs he always came to me when I sang, even giving him extra of his favorite cat treats, that I wasn’t able to go with him to the vet. I pretty much passed out when friends came to take him to the vet for me. I feel like I abandoned him at the last second because I wasn’t there.
He was with me for over a third of my life, and now he’s gone.
He was more than a pet.
He was family.
He was my baby.
He was Spaz.
He was loved.
And I miss him.