In memory of Fluffer

My old cat passed a month back … he was twenty so I am not sure why I was, and still am, surprised that it happened. I guess in people years his almost 20 years old put him over 100. I still expect him to walk into the room and yell at me for food, or follow me around hollering when I get the brush out, or lick my foot or hand if it accidentally dangled near his reach. A friend of mine said he was “the Dean Martin of cats” and I would have to say he was unique in many ways to be sure. Possessing an advanced understanding of vocabulary for a cat, he was very smart, and tried his best to behave. He had a tendency to be a bit excessive which cause us to bump heads now and again, but he was my companion of 20 years, the grandfather in the house, sometimes the annoying male who pissed me off, the good friend and the one constant thing in my life. Some nights I wonder if his passing was easy, and did he know I was right there. It is hard, we always think afterwards if we should have done more, or this and that. He likely had kidney failure or something typical of an old cat, but even though he was sick I could not bring myself to have him put down. I selfishly wanted him there as long as possible.

My son and I got him at the SPCA in Calgary. He was perched at the very top of the scratch post yelling loudly and my son picked him, and named him Spanky. He was never so attached to my son as he was me, lying on my head at night, entangling his paws in my hair, scratching my head, gazing at me lovingly. Some nights I had to lock him away, as he was determined to be in my hair, on my head, and I often woke up feeling as though I was being smothered. He used to be an outdoor cat and then I worried about his safety and stopped letting him out. That does not mean he did not escape every chance he got, loving the outdoors. A few weeks before he became ill he managed to get out and I could not find him for six hours. I was frantic but he made an appearance when it started to rain, liking to be dry more than being outside. Right up till the end I let him lay outside in the shade, enjoying what he loved most.

His name went from Spanky, to Spanky Floof, to Floof and then Fluffy. He loved everyone, wanting to be pet and scratched by anyone who came into the house. He was a people cat, and everyone loved him. If you lived with him his constant need for attention could be a bit much, as well as his gluttonous eating and drinking habits, and his peeing like a St. Bernard. Just ask my sister, who hated litter box duty.

I once flew him back to London on a plane, and my sister dropped him off at my other sisters, and he was all alone with strange cats and people for days, and he hid patiently waiting for me, jumping into my arms when he saw me.

Any complaints I had were small, and if he could talk I am sure he had a few against me also. I wish I had been more patient and understanding in his older years, always trying to find the balance with the two cats that were very different in personality. I switched him to raw food in order to help him lose weight and be healthier, perhaps it prolonged his life. He was never sick a day in his life. Steady and strong, my Fluffy.

Goodbye Fluffer. You were a loving adventurous young cat, and a good patient old cat, that put up with me. I will miss you.