See You Later

As you all know, we had to lay our sweet family cat to rest recently. It was one of the most difficult goodbyes I've ever had to say. So today, I'd like to write about his incredible story, because it makes me smile and it reminds me of how truly wonderful our furry friends can be.

Let's start at the beginning. That's my favorite part.

The thing I love most about Bob is that he chose us. I don't remember how old I was, maybe ten? It was during a Christmas break, I think, when the best little creature sauntered his way into our lives and refused to leave.

My mother had just returned from a grocery trip and she was hauling in the bags when this pesky, tailless cat kept running inside the house. "You don't live here," she would scold as she picked him up and returned him to the Great Suburban Outdoors.

In he ran and out she carried him over and over, until finally, she gave up. We knew he couldn't be a stray. He was too friendly and actually enjoyed being cradled like a baby. It was decided that we would harbor the sweet thing and make posters to alert his family.

Bob captured my heart immediately. He regularly guarded me in my sleep, positioning himself right next to my head on the pillow. Occasionally, I'd even get a nice head massage. There's nothing like falling asleep next to soft, purring cat. I selfishly prayed every night that no one would answer our posters. From the very beginning, I knew I never wanted to say goodbye.

The story of how Bob got his name always makes me chuckle. We thought he was a girl at first, so we started to call *her* Sweetie. We had another cat at the time, Squid, who was a rescue from a neglectful and abusive environment, so even though we loved him dearly, he wasn't much of a cuddler. That's why Bob's sweetness was so surprising to us. Weeks passed and no one claimed *Sweetie*. We weren't about to kick this amazing fur ball to the curb (and he never would have let us if we tried), so we just accepted the fact that we had a new cat! We took him to the vet to get all checked out and to make sure he had all his shots when -hey there- we discovered that our beloved *Sweetie* was actually a boy! So we tacked on a "Bob" at the end, in honor of the cute li'l nub he had in place of a tail. Thus, Sweetie became Sweetie-Bob, and eventually, just Bob.

Bob was an adventurous guy, even to the end of his days. He loved being outdoors more than anything and you could always find him bathing his giant belly in the warmth of the sun. He was an expert hunter, always bringing his trophies to the door (or truck bed). I really feel like Bob lived a true cat life. I think he'd regret nothing.

In 2001, we moved to a new neighborhood which was still under construction. Bob, being his curious and adventurous self, climbed into a moving van and we didn't see him again for.... months? Maybe a couple of years? It seemed like forever to me. We got a call one glorious day from a vet in Alief. Someone had found Bob and he still had his tags! I was finally reunited with my best friend! After his long-term adventure, he would no longer guard my sleep, but that was okay. I was just glad he was home.

Things changed again for this poor guy when I unexpectedly moved back home from school and brought my young cat Sheldon with me. Bob had grown older and this was a change he refused to accept. He was rather terrifying when his territory was threatened and I always felt bad for bringing Sheldon into his world. Bob would rarely come inside while Sheldon was there. He pretty much would only come in when we forced him to because the weather was too extreme for him to be out there. I had given him so many fun nicknames such as my Tubb of Chubb, Tubbinz/Tubb, and Bobular Cat. He lost a lot of his chub in his old age, but I never quit calling him those names. He will always be my Tubbinz.

The day came that he got so thin, my mother decided it was time to check it out. He'd gone from 16 pounds down to 8 in a few short years. The initial vet report: there was a tumor on his kidney. We were advised to put him down quickly because we would not want to see that play out. Bob may have been stubborn, but so is my mother. She decided to get a second opinion. The prognosis was similar, but just a tad more optimistic. Not a tumor, necessarily, but he definitely had kidney disease. After seeing a specialist, we put him on a special diet and my mom was trained on how to administer IV fluids to help keep him hydrated.

I think my worst experience during all of this was when I went to my parents' house to grab something for my classroom. I didn't know that they were keeping Bob in my bathroom at the time, so when I opened the door, I saw small blood stains on the floor and he was making weird sounds and walking funny. I immediately called my mom, sobbing. She said they believed he'd had a stroke the night before. They kept him in my bathroom because they were afraid he would fall down the stairs. The blood was from the kidney disease and his inability to get to the litter box in time. I thought that day was the end. I had regretted not listening to the first vet. I really didn't want to sit there and watch his body poison itself. I didn't know which was more selfish: Keeping him alive when his body was shutting down or putting him out of his misery?

A few days passed and my parents reported that he was getting stronger. The stroke blinded him, but he was getting around just fine. He liked company. If he could hear you, he was right there next to you. And he still loved to eat. We had to literally put it right in his face for a bit, but he would scarf it right down. He seemed to be on the up and up! While my parents were out of town, my little brother and I had the responsibility of administering the IV fluid. My mom showed me how but I hadn't actually done it before. I found out that day that I am the worst cat nurse. I cried, and freaked out a little when he would hiss and squirm, the needle would come out and spray IV fluid all aver him, which led to more hissing and angry groans, and more sobs from yours truly. But I got it done. After 3 tries. Sorry, Bob. You were too patient.

Later that week, my parents returned and my mom and I made plans to go check out an antique convention. I arrived at their house to eat lunch beforehand and my mom would look at me, then look away. Look at me, then look away. I asked her, "Why do you keep looking at me like that?" but I knew why. I knew it was done. My older brother came down stairs to leave for work that morning and saw Bob, lying motionless on the floor. Still breathing, but unresponsive. The vet said it was another massive stroke and there was no chance of recovery. That was that. He was gone. I didn't cry much, which felt wrong. But I had already cried so much from all the "This is it" and "He's making a comeback". It was a lot of back and forth, my emotions swinging on a pendulum from one extreme to the other. As I write this now, however, the tears are falling.

We saw it coming from a mile away. He was at least 18 years old. None of this was a surprise. But just like I knew during our first few weeks together, I still didn't want to say goodbye. He was a great cat. The best cat. None will ever compare. My mom called him the "Tailless Wonder". His nub was iconic. His tortoiseshell patterned fur was beautiful and soft. He was kind. He was stubborn. He was strong. Best of all, I think he was happy. Even in his last days.

One of his ears had a big chunk missing from a fight he was in long ago. Now my heart matches it.

I miss him. I miss him terribly. Home will never be the same without my Tubb of Chubb to gallop up to my car and greet me.