Friday Farewell. A Story about Reggie the Cat.

WARNING: This post is likely to be a downer. It's the story of a cat who crossed the rainbow bridge yesterday afternoon.

When Dad died of cancer back in 2006 Mom was inconsolable. He meant so very much to her. Her house felt so empty without him. Too quiet by far. So she wouldn't feel so all alone, she began to search for a cat to be her companion. Now, you'd think you could just go to a shelter and pick one up, but because Mom had the lymph nodes in her arm removed (cancer) the cat needed to be de-clawed.

She worked with the local shelter and, sure enough, a few months later she received a phone call and Reggie came into our lives. He was smaller than my two tom cats. His fur was a little longer than short-hair cats; the feel of the fur under your hand was simply luxurious.

He was good company for her. He was a talky-cat and filled up some of the silence. She named him Reggie after Dad. Raymond Eugene Gross; R. E. G. Similar to how she signed her hand-crafted greeting cards (GiGi). She was very creative.

Reggie loved his toys. He would toss his mice or birds up in the air and catch them. He'd bat them around and chase them across the floor.

One of his talents was as a mouser. Time after time he'd catch mice. Better than any trap! The downside to him catching mice was when he "gifted" them to Mom while she slept. Then she'd discover them when she woke up. Ewwwww...

Mom fed him Fancy Feast canned cat food. She gave him cat treats from time to time. He ate Purina Naturals dry cat food. Loving Momma that she was, Reggie also got special food on holidays (the good food with real shrimp!). She loved him very, very much.

They had their own little morning routine. He would wake her up by meowing and she would get up and feed him. He'd wait patiently while she filled his dry food, water and one spoon of canned cat food. In the evenings, she would sit in her chair to watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. He would meow to ask permission to come up to sit with her. She would tell him, "Okay, Reggie. Come on up." 

At night he slept next to her on the bed with his own little pillow. She told me many times how he would wake her up by gently touching her cheek with his paw. He was a little lovey kitty.

I made the mistake of introducing him to my Flat Coat Retriever/Black Lab mix dog, Bear, when he first came to be with Mom. Bear grew up with cats and basically ignored them, so I knew he wouldn't harm him. However, after being introduced to Bear, Reggie associated me with the dog. Thereafter, he hissed and growled at me when I came to her house and, usually, hid under the bed until I left. Lordy, could that cat growl! Of course, I simply laughed and went on living.

When Mom passed away I inherited Reggie. I was actually shocked when he didn't hiss or growl at me. Instead, he curled up next to me and purred. He won me over with his sweet ways.

Some folks would have put him down right then and there because he was so old and not all that healthy. But how could I not keep him? He was a part of her life and didn't act like he was in any pain. Obviously, I brought him home to live with Bandit (German Shepherd), BootZee (already waiting across the rainbow bridge), and Tigger-Tiger (gray and black striped tiger cat).

He was just a little, old arthritic kitty.

To get him accustomed to the other animals in the house - and them to him - the guest bedroom became his home. For the first several weeks and intermittently thereafter, I slept in the bedroom with him. The biggest hurdle was the dog. A baby gate was installed at the end of the hallway limiting his access to the back half of the house.

The bedroom door was opened little by little. A few minutes here. An hour there. A cautious sniff here. A hiss and growl there. Eventually the cats and dog learned to tolerate each other.

I fed him as Mom had fed him. I figured it was the least I could do to try to repay all the kindnesses she rained on me while she was alive. I forgave him when he peed on (and ruined) two feather pillows and a full sized mattress. Of course, that was toward the end when he was starting to show signs of being sick. Until he had his "accidents" and sometimes after that, he slept either on the bed next to me or in his little round bed on top of the nightstand by my bed.

Reggie never got close to either of the cats. I think he was more afraid of Tigger than of Bandit. He would walk right next to Bandit, but usually chose to make a wide circle around Tigger. Sometimes at night,  he'd wake me up for a drink of water or a bite to eat. I would escort him back to his room so he didn't have to walk the gauntlet past the dog or cat.

He was happy enough with his new surroundings. He adapted. Sometimes he would curl up next to me on the couch or sit on my lap in the chair. He purred as loud as he growled. He didn't play with his toys as he had with Mom, but he did play with one little blue mouse from time to time. I guess because it lit up and made noise.

I knew the end was near when he stopped eating. He still drank his water, but wouldn't eat his kibble or the canned food. I tempted him for a few days with canned tuna, which he greedily gulped down. He made it another three days before I noticed blood in some of his you-know: Ralph. (it's what you say when you've had too much to drink and are invoking the porcelain Gods). 

Rather than watch him suffer, we took a ride to the vet. I cried all the way there and most of the way back. Then, while driving down the road, a sense of calm and peace settled upon me and I knew I did the right thing. He's in Heaven with Mom now. I can picture them loving on each other. Her bending down and smiling and him raising up to meet her hand and purring, purring, purring.

God bless you, Reggie. You were a good kitty to both Mom and me.