I wrote this on Facebook hours after we had to put down our younger cat:
Smoke Monster (Smokey) was born Saturday, March 17, 2011 and died Friday, April 21, 2023. He was twelve years, one month, and four days old. He is preceded in death by his eldest sister, my beloved cocker spaniel, Rafferty (1992 – 2006). He is survived by his mom (me), his daddy (Jason) and his older sister, Jade (2009 – ).
When we had to put Rafferty down, I thought I could never deal with that grief again. We got no new pets for three years. Then I was suckered into taking Jade by my father-in-law; she was about six weeks old. I believed that cats, who are so independent, wouldn’t be as difficult to lose as a dog. When she was about a year old, I worried she was alone too much of the time and wanted a sibling for her so she would have a playmate.
In the spring of 2011 (Jade was about 18 months) my in-laws were bingeing the show LOST, which had ended the year before. Fans of the show, Jason and I hung out to watch the finale again. My sister-in-law told us that her parents had taken in a pregnant stray, who had had several kittens days before, and they were looking for homes once the kittens were old enough. I decided to take one, and chose a beautiful gray and white tabby with pink ears, nose, and mouth, and charcoal eyeliner around his eyes. With LOST still on my mind, and him having those gray and white swirls, I chose the name Smoke Monster for him, Smokey for short. We never used the formal name. He was just Smokey or Smokey-Cat (Jade is Jade-Kitty).
We got to know him over the next few weeks. We visited him several times as we waited for him to wean. He was highly socialized. Many of Raye’s siblings, nieces and nephews, and friends stopped by her parents to see the kittens. Plus, of course, he had his mother and all his siblings. We eventually brought him home, and put the carrier down to see how Jade would react. Smokey, from the beginning loving and friendly, meowed at her in acceptance, eager to meet his first new cat. Her response was to growl at him in lack of acceptance! They have never been great friends, and despite being half his size once he was grown, she dominated. But with rare exceptions, they were also companions.
Smokey grew into a huge catapotamus. Through his adult life, he weighed between 16 and 18 pounds (usually closer to the latter) and the vets were always cautioning us to watch his weight, that he didn’t get much fatter. He had thick, long fur that eventually required professional grooming, and he was fairly muscular. Until the end, Smokey only had one illness. Apparently in common with many, if not most, male cats, he had a small urinary tract, too small to pass urine. In 2015, when he was four, it became an emergency, and he had to have a perineal urethrostomy, where his penis was turned into an enlarged urethra. It didn’t really take, and he had another one about two or three months later. That one took. In the remaining eight years of his life, he had only a few UTIs, none too serious and all easily and relatively quickly treated.
Besides his physical beauty, Smokey was known for his sweetness and his physicality. He was usually eager to play with Jade; she often did, playing until she tired of him or got bored. He was always playing. With her, with us, with visitors, with toys. And above all, Smokey-Cat loved laser lights and the similar lighting from the sun angling into the bedroom. He always knew when the sun would hit and would go in there every afternoon, where he would leap several feet in the air to try to catch it. He was a lap kitty for both of us, but especially me in the final years. He loved to be petted and scratched. His favorite spots were behind the ears; the area below his ears, but above and to the outside of his nose; and finally, what the vet called his butt button, the bottom of his back right above his tail. One could pet him vigorously, unlike Jade, who is too delicate for that. He would fetch (as would Jade when she was younger). He would heel. If you called him, he came. He loved treats, and all one had to do was shake the treat box and no matter where in the house, he’d hear it and come running. He loved food, period, but he always let Jade do the work of demanding food, then he’d come and eat. Yet one could (mostly) leave one’s meal right next to him and he wouldn’t touch it without permission, unlike Jade, who will just help herself.
He was always getting into things he shouldn’t. Digging crumply plastics out of the garbage can because he liked the sound. Digging under my pillow next to me, under which I often kept a tissue, Chapstick, temperature setting remote, tv remote. He’d try to eat the remotes. And my cellphone. He was curious. When the seasons and holidays changed, and it was time to change out decorations, he was right there, peeking into bins, grabbing and running with choice items. And when my sister-in-law was at our house crocheting, he’d try to grab the yarn and run.
Smokey was talkative. He was always talking. Always. Whether tired or full of energy. Whether sad, mad, sick, or whatever else. He had a high-pitched meow that belied his size. (In contrast, Jade the runt has a throaty deeper meow.) He made funny sounds. He squeaked often and we teased that he needed some WD-40. He’d make goat sounds. He occasionally barked like a dog. Seriously. He’d combine those sounds into a single sentence, communicating with us. And we always knew when he wanted to play, because his meow would become more full-throated and sound almost like a wail. If we searched for him when he made those sounds, we would usually find him with a toy in his mouth and he’d drop it when we arrived, ready to play. And then there were his purrs. They could have provided power for manufacturing plants, so loud they were. He’d purr at any excuse and could be heard across the room easily. Even on his “deathbed”, he purred as we petted him.
In addition to the sunbeams reflecting on the walls, he just liked the sun, period. Of course, all cats do. He had his favorite places. He’d be on a cushion in Jason’s office during the morning hours, with the sun coming right in that window. He’d be in the bonus room in the afternoon if the curtains were open; otherwise, in the master bedroom, both rooms facing the afternoon sun. And he loved to look outside, watching the world go by him. Yet he was an indoor cat and had no desire to actually be outside.
He didn’t like us to be too busy for him. He’d jump up on our work chairs, right behind our necks. On the desk in front of the monitors. When I was trying to study, he’d just plop down on the textbook or notebook if he thought he was being ignored. He would get on the sofa right next to Jason and watch TV with us. Or sit behind us in the theater and then leap over to us. He wasn’t much of a loner, and if not with us, was usually near Jade. Or trying to. He loved her. When she lost her leg in 2013, due to osteosarcoma, Smokey was right there, bathing her, sitting next to her, and comforting her. She was in too much pain to object. When he had his urethra problems two years later, she wouldn’t have anything to do with him!
We both love both cats, and both cats us, but over the years, Jade imprinted on Jason, and Smokey imprinted on me. And God, he loved snuggles with me. And sleeping with me. Oh, and waking us before dawn, demanding petting. Getting on the dresser and messing with things if not paid attention to. I’m probably leaving out tons of stuff.
Everyone who ever met him fell in love with him. He was friendly with everyone, and his sweetness came through in droves. Everyone he met was his news BFF. And everyone commented on how gorgeous he was. Even the vet this morning commented on those two salient traits: beauty and sweetness.
And so it went, for years. He stayed healthy, he stayed at the upper end of his weight range, never going over. He was happy. In the third week of March, he celebrated his twelfth birthday. Days later, he had his annual exam and shots. He had lost maybe a pound, and the vet was satisfied, as it kept him within range. While we always worry about Jade and her small size and the sarcoma returning, Smokey was robust and expected to live a long and full life, 18 to 20 years old. Maybe more.
Maybe two weeks ago, I began noticing his spinal cord was protruding a little more and was confused, wondering if he’d always been that way, even though I knew it wasn’t. There were no other signs I could see that were concerning. He seemed to eat as normal, he certainly was behaviorally the same. Energetic, into things he shouldn’t be, eating his snacks, playing, etc.
It seemed to hit almost overnight. Wednesday he was fine. Thursday morning, he walked away from his food. He went upstairs to lie down with the sun on him. Jason tried to feed him a snack and he wouldn’t take it. Then he weighed him and it looked like Smokey had lost 3 to 4 pounds since late March. We made an appointment with our vet for Monday, but something about his listlessness sent us into a panic. He’d been fine just the night before but now we were concerned about the weight loss and appetite loss. So into the pet emergency room we took him. They noticed immediately he wasn’t breathing well; in fact, he was struggling. They gave him oxygen and ran some x-rays, drew blood, did some other tests. What showed up was our worst nightmare. They didn’t know the type of cancer or where it had begun, but both they and our vet believe it to have been advanced lymphoma. He had a tumor next to his heart that was as big as it was. Probably dangerous to operate on, even had it been the only one. It wasn’t. He had them in his lungs, his lymph nodes, his belly, his stomach. And according to them, he had dropped to under eleven pounds, meaning about one third of his weight lost. Given the severe drop in such a short time, his attitude changes, his loss of appetite, and the breathing, they determined he likely had but days to live. And each day might be more painful.
We found ourselves needing to make the decision to put him down, with only hours to adjust. However painful losing Rafferty had been, we’d half expected it for a while. Had it been Jade, it would have been upsetting, but not surprising. This blindsided us completely. I am still in shock. Two night ago, he was snuggled against me for the night, and perfectly normal, other than realizing he’d lost a little weight. And I’d had no idea just how much weight was lost, most of it muscle mass. (His spine at the end was unbelievably pronounced, like the ribs of someone under consistent starvation.)
Our vet very kindly shifted her schedule to put him down this morning. If we had hoped to get in precious hours with him, though, we didn’t get it. He never ate again that final 18 hours. He never played. He never kissed us, or snuggled. He just lay there, and didn’t sleep, his head up, for the remaining hours he had left. He’d occasionally meow when we petted him (not in pain, but responding to us). He must have been in pain, though he didn’t seem like it, but listening to him try to breathe was horrible. We believed he might die during the night. But he was still going this morning. A little before 8:30, our vet gave him a sedative to allow him to drift slowly off. It took about 10 minutes, during which she left us alone. Then she returned to administer the drug that stopped his heart. And then they left us alone again. Smokey died about 18 hours after we had found out about all this. Too effing soon. Not enough time.
I never held him again after Wednesday. Either Jason or one of the vets picked him up Thursday and this morning. I’m deeply upset about that. I was just too afraid of hurting him. I was determined to pick him up after he died, but he was too flip-floppy and so I had to settle for holding him on the table and keeping his dignity intact. I at least removed his bandage from yesterday.
We have already selected a place to take care of him and chosen an urn. It will have a name plate and a place for a picture.
I feel guilty, though everyone says there was nothing we could do, that once symptoms appeared, it was already way too late. But I should have paid more attention to the weight. They say he’d probably been gradually eating less, playing less. Too gradual to notice. Until the tumors grew too big to breathe properly, which was probably that final full day, when it all caved in on him. But yeah, I feel like I failed him. [In the days since I wrote all this, Jason and I have realized more small signs we missed at the time. He’d stay put on furniture when something was happening, when before he’d immediately jump down. Same with simple petting: where once he’d get demanding, in the final days, he was more quiet. He ate a little less, and when he chose to eat varied. When he coughed up hairballs, all he’d get was acid. I thought nothing of it at the time, but now believe it was the cancer, not hairballs. All of these things were relatively small, not major changes, and easy to miss at the time.]
I’m going to be sharing pictures in a separate post or two. I wish everyone had known him. He was the kind of cat that makes everyone want to own a cat, or hopes they’ll have when they get a cat. I am heartbroken. This is much tougher than Rafferty was, given its suddenness. And his absence is all the more noticeable (and painful) given his constant presence for so many years. He filled this house. But I have the memories and sharing some of them has helped immeasurably. But I still can’t stop crying.
Rest in Peace, my sweet baby. Whatever pain you had at the end, you didn’t have it long. You were happy and healthy nearly up to the end. I know Rafferty was there to greet you at the rainbow bridge and introduce you to all of her friends. You can get to know her now. You two are peas in a pod.