Thomas...

I lost a good friend last Thursday, a friend of 14 years. My 16-year old orange tom cat, Thomas, finally lost his battle with kidney failure. He’d been struggling since December, requiring nearly constant care in the end. He’d been barely eating in the last few weeks and not at all for the last few days. We had been giving him fluids under the skin to keep him comfortable.

Thomas had a rough life at the start. He’d never fully trusted us at first, and trusted Edward even less. See there was this man, a neighbor told us, that had beaten him then left him to fend for himself in the winter in Maryland. When we finally trapped him, 4 months later, Thomas was thin and cold, and wanted nothing but to get back outside to fend for himself. He soon figured out that inside meant regular meals and a warm place to sleep, if he could just learn to get along with those other two cats in the house. Thomas, at age 2, the doctor guessed, had never been neutered, and so he had a strong wide chest and a jowly face that only an un-neutured male gets. The first night we had him I set him on the couch beside me, he purred nervously and looked as if he would run at any moment. We could only guess that he’d never been allowed on the furniture. For the first few years whenever we entered the room and he was on the couch he would immediately jump down, as if caught where he wasn’t supposed to be. His purr was always rough and his meow never smooth, but after a while he began to trust us. Thomas hid from everyone who came to the house, especially men. If Edward grew a beard, he got especially wary. Loud men also sent him scurrying for cover. I remember once, pulling him from under a bed to prove to friends that I really had an orange cat. That all changed when Mike started feeding him treats while cat-sitting for us. Then, whenever Mike came over, Thomas would run to the cabinet where the treats were kept and beg. Quite a change from the shy cat we took in 14 years ago.

He wasn’t your typical orange cat, either. His fur, thick and soft, was a bleached version of every other orange cat I’ve ever seen. With a white blaze on his chest and belly and white tips on his paws, he was, by far, the prettiest orange cat I’ve ever seen. He was quick, a result of having to feed himself for so many months. It took him years to figure out that meals were a regular thing, and filled out a lot the first year we had him.

In the end he was thin beyond belief, but still proud and noble. His fur was still soft, although it showed the signs of his not being able to wash any more. That last day he sat in my lap until it was time, he purred some, dreamed a little, but mostly slept. Our vet was able to come out to the house, and save him that last car ride. He died in my arms, and we buried him in the back yard next to Felicia, under a bush called a Yesterday-Today-and-Tomorrow, whose purple flowers fade to white with time. I was grateful to have had the time to spend with him that day.

I’ll never forget him. He was a great comfort in rough times, and a good friend always. The other cats know he’s gone and the shifting in dominance has begun. The girls are competing with Smoke, Sandy is sitting this one out for the most part. Thomas had been out of that loop for a while, but nothing had been settled. They have seemed somewhat subdued the last few days.

I miss Thomas already. There seems to be an empty space in the house. After caring for him so long, I feel lost that he’s not there. We have four other friends to make up to… for time spent with Thomas. They haven’t understood what’s been going on, and only know that we are sad. Tina sat on me yesterday as if to say, its OK, I’m still here.

Losing a cat, as I have now several times, always hurts. The pain eventually dulls, but never goes away completely. He was a sweet cat. I loved him deeply. Rest in Peace, my friend, you’ll be missed.