Kevin
I didn’t want a cat. I’d only ever had a few pets before but none of those experiences worked out very well. Maybe I’m just not a pet person. The little guys I’d spent time with in the past tore up my apartments, costing me money and causing me stress. And none of them - cats and dogs alike - were ever very friendly. Lest you think I was the problem, most pets (other people’s) seem to love me! I must give off a vibe that animals like. I don’t know. But my ex-wife wanted a cat. We had just moved in together. And when she was moving out of her place to move into mine, her cat ran away when I accidentally left the door open. I feel awful about that to this day. So we rescued a kitten named Champagne (!) and re-named him Kevin.
In the first few months of his life, Kevin was very playful - which was cute - but he also attacked my hands and feet constantly. I had to work really hard to train him not to do that. I kept trying to demonstrate to him that my hands and feet were attached to the rest of me and eventually he seemed to come to understand.
It didn’t take too long for Kevin to lose interest in things like yarn and laser pointers, etc. If I tried to interest him, he’d give me a look as if toys were beneath him. The only thing he hung onto was a little stuffed mouse. I called it his baby. He’d hug it and attack it and carry it around and he spoke to it in a language reserved exclusively for the mouse. Loved the mouse.
For maybe the first two years of his life, Kevin would lay on my chest whenever I laid on the couch and I loved that. He’d purr really loud and the vibration felt nice. Then he stopped doing it. But one day - years after we had our last couch cuddle and long after my ex-wife left Kevin and I behind - I was having a really bad day and he must have sensed it because he came over and laid on my chest again. That brought a tear to my eye. It must have been 11 or 12 years ago, maybe more. He never did it again. That was the last time.
After that and for most of the years of his life, he just wanted to be fed and otherwise left alone. He never wanted to go outside. He hated being brushed or petted. God help you if you tried to pick him up. He just barely tolerated me and hated pretty much anyone else. If there was a visitor in the house, he would hiss and swipe at them. Several of my human friends were afraid of him.
Two years ago or so, my sister and niece were visiting and my niece gave Kevin popcorn. He loved it. The next day, I noticed that one side of his face was swollen. He tried to murder me as I worked to put him in his carrier and then I took him to the vet. Turned out he broke a tooth - probably on a kernel. During that visit to the vet, it was determined that he had hyperthyroidism and he was prescribed expensive medication. I duly tricked him into taking that medicine twice a day for many months until I ran out of tricks.
After Kevin stopped taking his medicine, he started wasting away pretty quickly. He got very skinny and slowed down considerably. He often seemed uncomfortable and frustrated but violently refused all help. He went from seemingly indestructible to frail in a matter of weeks. But the fight never went out of him. He remained feisty and just kept going.
He started taking a turn for the worse a few weeks ago. His face was still very cute but the rest of him was skin and bones. I consulted a vet and was sent a quality of life questionnaire. Poor Kevin did not score well. I wanted to pet him or hug him but he wouldn’t let me. I risked life and limb by picking him up and he was light as a feather.
It was a painful decision but arrangements were made for a vet - a very kind young woman named Dr. Patel - to come to the house to guide Kevin into the next world. She was to arrive at the house at noon the following day. I was instructed to give him some sedative at 10:00 AM and then take him to a room where he couldn’t hide at 11:00. I had leftover sedative. His regular vet refused to see him unless he was chemically mellowed the fuck out.
The next morning, I laid out a spread of Kevin’s favorite foods (fish, chicken soup, gruel) seasoned with sedative. He knew something was up and wouldn’t go near any of it.
At noon, I opened my front door to a very solemn Dr. Patel. She said, “I’m so sorry, Richard. I know this is a very difficult day.” I thought to myself, “this little arsehole dealt me nothing but torment and bloodshed over the last 14 or 15 years - let’s get on with it!”
“Thank you,” I said, matching her solemnity.
Dr. Patel explained how the process would go - that she’d give Kevin an injection with a powerful sedative and then - after five minutes or so - the final insult, which would take effect in as little as 30 seconds and as much as two minutes. I confessed my failures to calm and contain him and warned that he might very well kill us first. She didn’t laugh.
When it was time, I brought Kevin his beloved baby and armored myself with a towel. I expected a bloody showdown but Dr. Patel was a pro and administered the first shot without issue. Kevin stumbled for a few seconds and then settled into an uncomfortable-looking shape on the floor. I felt something in my chest.
After Dr. Patel and I repositioned Kevin’s body into a nicer pose, an injection of blue fluid was administered. Kevin let out a sound I never heard before and which will probably haunt me the rest of my life.
“That’s normal”, she said.
For the next 15 minutes, I watched Kevin’s chest rise and fall. He just kept breathing. So much fight in a cat that lived to be left alone and eat Temptations cat treats. They must be really good.
The decision was made to deliver a second dose and then, after another five minutes or so, the breathing finally stopped and Dr. Patel left the room.
I gave Kevin 20 kisses and did something I always wanted to do but he would never let me - I held his paw. It was so soft. I didn’t want to let go. I laid there on the floor with him for ten minutes or so, I guess. When I got up, there was a little puddle on the floor next to Kevin which alarmed me for a moment until I realized it was my tears.
Over the last few days, I’ve been finding the odd Kevin hair on my clothes and objects that belonged to him or were part of his care. Why does it feel so hard to throw out a half-empty box of litter? What do I do with his carrier, which he hated more than anything in this world?
Kevin avoided me most of the time. He had several hiding spots where he could curl up and... think, I suppose. Most days I’d barely see him all day. So why does the house feel so empty without him here now?