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3fgburnerI've been unhappily anticipating writing this post for a couple of days. As it is, I was expecting to write it tomorrow night.
In late August or early September of 1992, A. and I were in a pet shop. If I remember rightly, I wanted to get some aquarium hose for a new drinking jug. Back in the day, a few SCA fighters were rigging 2-liter bottles with hoses, going up into our helmets. Think of a proto-Camelbak rig.
I looked over at the cages containing kittens and puppies (they still did that, then). A little gray tabby poked his paw out of the cage, looking upward, and reaching for me. I asked if I could hold him for a bit. Now, we'd discussed getting pets. A's roommate had had cats, and her former roommates had dogs. She had never had a dog or cat of her own. She was dubious about our ability to care for a cat. Reluctantly, I put him back in the cage, and we left. A few hours later, A. said that we were going back to the pet shop. Said she couldn't stand thinking of what my face looked like, as I gave him back.
We went back, and actually wound up having to wait a few days, since he was still too young. His mother couldn't care for him, so he needed hand-raising by specialists (meaning pet-shop people, I guess) for another few days. Then, we brought him home. It took him a while to name himself. When we took him to the vet for his shots, they asked what his name was. I thought perhaps "Tomahawk", since we seemed to have acquired a small, gray, furry cruise missile. This changed to Hawkeye, which fit. He had the exploratory and territorial instincts, and self-reliance, of Deerslayer. He also had the respect for authority of Dr. Pierce of the 4077th. By the way, we're talking Donald Sutherland, NOT Alan Alda.
He had a talent for getting onto and into things. Although he got fatter and less agile as he aged, he was a leaper and climber as a kitten. Walking up the stairs one day, I looked up and Hawk was on the top step. He gave a flying leap, and landed on my shoulder. At dinner, if he thought what we were having smelled good, he'd climb my thigh. I remember a Yule ritual where he spent the entire time on my shoulder.
Hawkeye had odd tastes and habits, for a cat. A. described him occasionally as being "culturally human", from having been hand-raised. He never gave a damn about hunting anything bigger than bugs. Our other cat, Jacob, was the mighty slayer of rodents. When Hawkeye wanted to go out, he'd go to the front door, stand on his hind legs, and reach for the knob with his paws. I shudder sometimes to think of the trouble he could've made, if he'd had opposable thumbs.
He loved people food, when he could talk us into letting him have it. We were always careful to feed him a diet of quality furball chow, but any cooking of flesh on my part, triggered demands for his tithe. This included ethnic food. That cat would eat chili, curry, Thai food, and other dishes that would smoke the taste buds of some humans I know.
Once, I was eating some Szechuan string beans. He grabbed my thigh, and said, "Daddy, want!". I replied, "Hawkeye, it's a vegetable" (which he understood).
He said, "Want!"
Ok, fine. I offered him a string bean. He ate it. I think that if it had Szechuan sauce on it, he'd have eaten hay.
At around age 2 or 3, he got in a fight that resulted in an infected puncture that abscessed. This led to twice-daily antibiotics, which he hated. The hot-packings with a washcloth and manipulating the fiber drain in the incision twice a day, REALLY pissed him off. I learned whole new encyclopedias of feline profanity, during that week. We knew he was recovered at the end of the week, when we caught him up on the stove, with his face in a pot of chili.
He was always an outdoor cat, whenever he could get us to let him out. In his younger days, we'd catch him out and about, and occasionally getting into kicking-yowling-hissing matches with other cats. He was never stupid about cars, which is probably how he managed to live a full life. Even in the last few years, he wanted to get out and about. Sometimes, instead of running around the neighborhood, it was lying on the grass in the front or back yard, enjoying the sun. He still loved it. Yesterday, we found him doing something he'd never tried. He went into the freshly-dug garden, under the sprinkler, and took a mud bath.
He wasn't one to skimp on the unconditional love. Mornings, if we were slow to get up, he'd be on the bed, licking ears and noses. He also loved to just lie there and cuddle, beside me. Sometimes, if he hopped on the bed, we'd go to sleep with him backed up beside me, under the covers. Mornings became ritualized. Part of A's breakfast every day is a couple of sticks of Cheddar-Jack cheese. Hawkeye came upstairs when she brought up breakfast. He'd sit at her feet, demanding his bit of cheese. At one point, for a few years, I had him doing tricks for the stuff. I actually trained him to roll over for a piece of cheese. Of course, Hawk figured that he had ME trained to give up the cheese, when he rolled over. Same as training us to let him out when he reached for the door knob.
Four or so years ago, he came down with kidney problems. New diet, kidney-friendly food, reduced the things that could be bad for him. We started having to give him subcutaneous fluids, every other day. He got a growth in his mouth, and we had that removed surgically. Last fall, we had a ping-pong-ball size cyst removed from his shoulder. Through it all, he hung in there.
The past few months, he'd been declining. We started mixing chicken or turkey baby food in with his Science Diet. We'd give him treats. Recently, we started giving him multivitamins. We had to accept that he was getting truly ancient. Last week, we took him to the vet. She examined him, and noted something I'd seen - edema in his abdomen. She did an ultrasound, and sampled the fluid. The verdict was lymphoma.
We put him on Prednisone, to help him feel better (although he HATED getting pills, even wrapped in gooshyfood). Saturday, though, we made the decision -- it was time to set the appointment. We wanted to have it done by his vet, so we made the appointment for Tuesday evening. We spent time with him, gave him love, took him out on the grass where he could see the sky and smell the world. He stopped eating, and we did what we could to get him to drink. Today, he took it out of our hands. At around 3:30 this afternoon, he caught the next train for the Rainbow Bridge. In human-equivalent years, he was 92.
In late August or early September of 1992, A. and I were in a pet shop. If I remember rightly, I wanted to get some aquarium hose for a new drinking jug. Back in the day, a few SCA fighters were rigging 2-liter bottles with hoses, going up into our helmets. Think of a proto-Camelbak rig.
I looked over at the cages containing kittens and puppies (they still did that, then). A little gray tabby poked his paw out of the cage, looking upward, and reaching for me. I asked if I could hold him for a bit. Now, we'd discussed getting pets. A's roommate had had cats, and her former roommates had dogs. She had never had a dog or cat of her own. She was dubious about our ability to care for a cat. Reluctantly, I put him back in the cage, and we left. A few hours later, A. said that we were going back to the pet shop. Said she couldn't stand thinking of what my face looked like, as I gave him back.
We went back, and actually wound up having to wait a few days, since he was still too young. His mother couldn't care for him, so he needed hand-raising by specialists (meaning pet-shop people, I guess) for another few days. Then, we brought him home. It took him a while to name himself. When we took him to the vet for his shots, they asked what his name was. I thought perhaps "Tomahawk", since we seemed to have acquired a small, gray, furry cruise missile. This changed to Hawkeye, which fit. He had the exploratory and territorial instincts, and self-reliance, of Deerslayer. He also had the respect for authority of Dr. Pierce of the 4077th. By the way, we're talking Donald Sutherland, NOT Alan Alda.
He had a talent for getting onto and into things. Although he got fatter and less agile as he aged, he was a leaper and climber as a kitten. Walking up the stairs one day, I looked up and Hawk was on the top step. He gave a flying leap, and landed on my shoulder. At dinner, if he thought what we were having smelled good, he'd climb my thigh. I remember a Yule ritual where he spent the entire time on my shoulder.
Hawkeye had odd tastes and habits, for a cat. A. described him occasionally as being "culturally human", from having been hand-raised. He never gave a damn about hunting anything bigger than bugs. Our other cat, Jacob, was the mighty slayer of rodents. When Hawkeye wanted to go out, he'd go to the front door, stand on his hind legs, and reach for the knob with his paws. I shudder sometimes to think of the trouble he could've made, if he'd had opposable thumbs.
He loved people food, when he could talk us into letting him have it. We were always careful to feed him a diet of quality furball chow, but any cooking of flesh on my part, triggered demands for his tithe. This included ethnic food. That cat would eat chili, curry, Thai food, and other dishes that would smoke the taste buds of some humans I know.
Once, I was eating some Szechuan string beans. He grabbed my thigh, and said, "Daddy, want!". I replied, "Hawkeye, it's a vegetable" (which he understood).
He said, "Want!"
Ok, fine. I offered him a string bean. He ate it. I think that if it had Szechuan sauce on it, he'd have eaten hay.
At around age 2 or 3, he got in a fight that resulted in an infected puncture that abscessed. This led to twice-daily antibiotics, which he hated. The hot-packings with a washcloth and manipulating the fiber drain in the incision twice a day, REALLY pissed him off. I learned whole new encyclopedias of feline profanity, during that week. We knew he was recovered at the end of the week, when we caught him up on the stove, with his face in a pot of chili.
He was always an outdoor cat, whenever he could get us to let him out. In his younger days, we'd catch him out and about, and occasionally getting into kicking-yowling-hissing matches with other cats. He was never stupid about cars, which is probably how he managed to live a full life. Even in the last few years, he wanted to get out and about. Sometimes, instead of running around the neighborhood, it was lying on the grass in the front or back yard, enjoying the sun. He still loved it. Yesterday, we found him doing something he'd never tried. He went into the freshly-dug garden, under the sprinkler, and took a mud bath.
He wasn't one to skimp on the unconditional love. Mornings, if we were slow to get up, he'd be on the bed, licking ears and noses. He also loved to just lie there and cuddle, beside me. Sometimes, if he hopped on the bed, we'd go to sleep with him backed up beside me, under the covers. Mornings became ritualized. Part of A's breakfast every day is a couple of sticks of Cheddar-Jack cheese. Hawkeye came upstairs when she brought up breakfast. He'd sit at her feet, demanding his bit of cheese. At one point, for a few years, I had him doing tricks for the stuff. I actually trained him to roll over for a piece of cheese. Of course, Hawk figured that he had ME trained to give up the cheese, when he rolled over. Same as training us to let him out when he reached for the door knob.
Four or so years ago, he came down with kidney problems. New diet, kidney-friendly food, reduced the things that could be bad for him. We started having to give him subcutaneous fluids, every other day. He got a growth in his mouth, and we had that removed surgically. Last fall, we had a ping-pong-ball size cyst removed from his shoulder. Through it all, he hung in there.
The past few months, he'd been declining. We started mixing chicken or turkey baby food in with his Science Diet. We'd give him treats. Recently, we started giving him multivitamins. We had to accept that he was getting truly ancient. Last week, we took him to the vet. She examined him, and noted something I'd seen - edema in his abdomen. She did an ultrasound, and sampled the fluid. The verdict was lymphoma.
We put him on Prednisone, to help him feel better (although he HATED getting pills, even wrapped in gooshyfood). Saturday, though, we made the decision -- it was time to set the appointment. We wanted to have it done by his vet, so we made the appointment for Tuesday evening. We spent time with him, gave him love, took him out on the grass where he could see the sky and smell the world. He stopped eating, and we did what we could to get him to drink. Today, he took it out of our hands. At around 3:30 this afternoon, he caught the next train for the Rainbow Bridge. In human-equivalent years, he was 92.
Farewell to you, Mighty Warrior, Most Noble of Tomcats.
Gourmet and Constructive Critic of Chili, and People Food.
Ruler of the Block, In your Prime, and Most Regal Overseer,
thereafter.
Gourmet and Constructive Critic of Chili, and People Food.
Ruler of the Block, In your Prime, and Most Regal Overseer,
thereafter.
Blessed Lady Bast, take up Hawkeye in Your arms.
Restore him to youth and health,
Give him yummies to eat,
Grass to play in, and reunite him with
His friends who have gone before.
Help him to wait in patience at the Bridge,
Until that day when it is our time to come
and be reunited with him, in everlasting joy.
So mote it be.
Restore him to youth and health,
Give him yummies to eat,
Grass to play in, and reunite him with
His friends who have gone before.
Help him to wait in patience at the Bridge,
Until that day when it is our time to come
and be reunited with him, in everlasting joy.
So mote it be.
Copy-and-paste for female Kitties
Date: 2017-06-20 03:40 am (UTC)Restore her to youth and health,
Give her yummies to eat,
Grass to play in, and reunite her with
Her friends who have gone before.
Help her to wait in patience at the Bridge,
Until that day when it is her people's time to come
and be reunited with her, in everlasting joy.
So mote it be.