Homage to Fred

When my son was young, I found it more convenient and less smelly to take him to the local pet store as opposed to driving to the zoo in Los Angeles.  We had fun looking at all of the lizards, snakes, frogs and fish and playing with puppies after which we did not have to scoop any you-know-what.  On one occasion about 11 years ago, the pet store had on display a large cage filled with a litter of kittens that had been abandoned at their doorstep over night.  They appeared to be about six weeks old.  Two of them (identical!) were soundly beating the tar out of all of the other kitties, purring loud enough to be heard across the store while they cheerfully administered their whooping.  Kevin and I sat on the floor and played with the kitties through the bars for a good 45 minutes.

They were all available for adoption.  I had promised my husband that I would never, ever bring home an animal that we hadn't agreed would be adopted.  He was under an enormous amount of stress at work and I didn't want to make it worse, but I just couldn't see NOT adopting this one adorable orange ball of fluff.  We had two kitties at home, one of which was two years old (Ricky) and always wanted to play; the other (Lucy) clearly never wanted to play and let Ricky know with a sound boxing of his ears daily.  We thought this kitty would make a nice playmate.  I called my husband and provide lengthy details about the divine qualities of this kitty.  He sighed and told me that if I just couldn't leave without the kitty, he understood and that was OK.  That was the day we adopted Fred.  If you already have a Lucy and a Ricky, you MUST name the new boy in the house Fred!

Fred has been a wonderful member of the family.  He was an amazing hunter, able to catch a hummingbird with a tall leap and a clap.  He routinely saved the yard from gophers and saved me from attacking June bugs (all I had to do was call, "Fred! Come get the kitty crouton!" and he'd come running, taking his job as crouton-catcher very seriously).  He was a big, furry bundle of purr and a talker.  He didn't meow as much as chirp and talk.

Last summer we noticed that Fred was rapidly losing weight.  He's a Maine Coon and at his peak, weighed 16.5 lbs.  While dropping weight like mad (and still eating), we found an open sore on a paw that just wouldn't heal after a few rounds of hefty antibiotics.  We finally got the diagnosis of cancer.  Over the last couple of months we watched him lose the vision in one eye and very recently found another of these tumor-like booboos on another paw.  We have cried for a week, knowing our days with him were numbered.  We sprawled on the lawn in the sun together this week while Fred chirped about the birds and lizards and the wild winds.

I was with Fred when they gave him the shot to help him relax, and then the 2nd to help him fall into that deep, deep sleep of no more pain and suffering.  I knelt down and put my nose to his and we looked eye to eye as he dozed off, stroking his fur and asking him to tell Lucy and Ricky to play nice with him up there in kitty heaven.  I'm so sad.  The whole family is so sad.  While I teased early in my blogging days about not writing about my pets, this is about love and loss and compassion of a fuzzy family member, not a cat.  We hope Fred is romping in a field of heavenly catnip with loads of sunshine in which to roll around.  This morning and every morning from now on, I will raise my coffee mug to my lovely Fred and thank him for giving us eleven years of kitty-parenting bliss.