Remembering Linus

Some of you don't understand why I'm so upset by the death of my kitty. That's OK - your life/pet experiences have no doubt been different from mine. But some of you really get it, and for that I am truly thankful. Thank you to all who have shared memories, hugs (virtual and real), tears and prayers.

I just want to talk about my kitty for a few minutes. Indulge me if you will. Or click away. It's your call :)

About two years into our marriage (January 2000), Brad and I moved from an apartment into our house in Tigard. Being life-long cat lovers, we decided it was time to cash in on our wedding gift from my sister and go to the Oregon Humane Society to pick out a couple companions.

We brought home Piper and Linus. Piper was an all-black homebody who loved to sleep on our bed. He was very affectionate, but you'd have to watch close when you pet him, because when he was done, he was done. :)

When we first spotted Linus in the shelter, the giant cat (near 20 pounds!) was curled up in his litter box. Just hanging out. We adopted him anyway and frequently referred to that lovely scene.

We were a happy family of four until August 2004 when an undiagnosed heart defect took Piper. It was very sudden (he was fine in the morning and had to be put down before lunch), and our hearts broke for our beloved Peeper (that was his nickname).

We adjusted to being a family of three, and everything was good. Well, mostly good.

There was an incident with the neighbors. Linus beat up their cat. They threatened to kidnap and kill him. We called the cops. We all went to mediation. The neighbors said they would move in order to get away from our "20 pounds of mean male cat". The housing market tanked. They still live next door. Linus lived inside for the rest of his life. We still give them the stink eye ;)

And then there was the pee. For some reason, Linus felt compelled to pee on plastic and plastic-like things. Plastic bags, buckets, tarps, ski pants, puffy jackets, reusable grocery bags, nylon gym bags. And also beanbags, floor pillows, hiking clothes and running shoes. Oh, and in the later years, Christmas trees.

I bought Nature's Miracle Just for Cats Urine Destroyer by the gallon.

But that was his major downfall. Seriously. The rest of the time, he was just a very, very sweet, kind, lovey cat.

Linus was incredibly affectionate, especially when he was younger. He always wanted to be touched and pet and snuggled. He would run from person to person and beg for love, meowing the whole time. He would roll onto his back, hoping for a belly rub. This behavior gained him all kinds of mildly inappropriate nicknames like Horny McFuzzy Butt.

Linus loved to laze around, sleeping in the most cozy spots. I frequently told him how impressed (and jealous) I was at his ability to find what looked like the perfect napping place.

Linus loved to play, but only on his own terms. He enjoyed ripping the facial features off his little toys, especially the catnip-filled ones. And he liked to attack his prey under the kitchen table, noisily jumping around, under and over the table and chair legs.  (And then he would snuggle with them!)
Linus really just wanted to be with us, even more so as he aged. Wherever we were, there he was. He curled up on the couch behind us when we watched movies. He sat on my lap when I read in my chair. When we were outside on the deck, he'd sit at the slider and meow. When we were in bed, he'd lay on our chests, getting as close as possible to our faces. He loved to rub on Brad's beard. In the mornings, he'd get up and sit with me while I ate breakfast. 

He used to spend his nights in the garage, but we softened as the years went by, and he eventually got to stay inside. That meant sleeping on the bed. And that turned into sleeping on my pillow. I finally gave up after he tried to push me off my own pillow and made a special place for him at the top of the bed and then put my pillow below. My feet hit the bottom of the bed, but that was OK with me.

He was fun and mischievous and silly.

He loved his scratchy boxes and his magic carpet.

He refused to drink out of a bowl, always choosing instead to climb headfirst into the toilet when he needed a drink.

He was always up for a post-work nap.
When Brad was away, he'd sleep next to me and protect me from the bad guys.

He was a very handsome boy and loved to be brushed.

We put up a baby gate in the hall to confine him to half of the house. We called it "Kitty Jail" and frequently reminded him that it was his actions (peeing) that caused him to live there.

Brad gave him a thyroid pill twice a day. Every day. We paid Eryn to do it when we were out of town. Surprisingly, Linus didn't seem to mind at all.

We had to buy a dog carrier because he was too big for the cat-sized one:

We had signals to let each other know if the cat was locked in the house and it was safe to open the garage door.

Despite the cat's full access to the garage, we've had mice. In the first outbreak, the rodents were actually stealing Linus's food and hiding it around the garage.

He wouldn't squeeze through a door that was ajar but insisted on first pushing it all the way open with his paws and then walking through the opening.

He would sometimes get a wild hair and gallop through the house at top speed.

In the last weeks of his life, he refused to eat anything except cat treats and the gravy from canned food. And though his mobility was fine, he insisted that we bring it to him in his bed (and by "his bed", I mean, my pillow).

Linus was a very good buddy, always there when we needed some cheer or someone to talk to. I spoke with him all the time, sharing my news from the day, telling him what I was up to, sharing both my struggles and my triumphs.

The last weeks...

We had noticed Linus slowing down. He was about 3 when we adopted him and that was 13 years ago. And 16 translates to about 87 in cat years! He was definitely getting less active, but he was still himself. The vet always said he was in great health considering his age.
But shortly after the beginning of the year, we noticed a baseball-sized growth in his right hind leg. The vet warned that it could be cancer and then ran numerous tests. He called with good news: It was likely just an infection. But it didn't shrink with antibiotics. In fact, it got bigger. Much bigger.

We went for a second opinion, all the way to Vancouver to a cat-only vet who's been friends with Brad's family forever. She gave us the bad news: It was likely feline fibrosarcoma. She suggested that he might live just another couple weeks.

For those last weeks, Linus lived like a king. We gave him so much attention and love and treats and toys and everything we could to ensure that he was happy and comfortable. We planned family movie nights just so we could all hang out together. I spent extra time reading in my chair so Linus could come sit with me. We stayed home on the weekends to make sure we were with him until the end. 

In the next four weeks, the tumor grew to be the size of a large grapefruit. But Linus was still happy and comfortable, hobbling around like nothing was different.

This past Friday night, Linus was suddenly scared and in pain. Thankfully, the vet sent us home with heavy-duty pain killers to get him through. We gave him a dose to calm him, and then Saturday morning, we said goodbye. 

I miss him so much.

Now that he's gone, it's astounding to realize how many ways he affected our daily life for the past 13 years. His constant presence is very much missed. Each time I walk into our bedroom, my eyes are drawn to his special spot, where I've come home to find him sleeping for many years.

My heart hurts in his absence. And it's so lonely at home. And very quiet.

Linus was my sweet boy, my baby. He loved us, and we loved him. We are better for having him in our lives, and I think his life was better with us.

Thank you, friends, for all your support through this hard time.