Farewell Buddy!
He was just a stray tomcat, dirty and loud. He came around the house almost every day, and ran when he spotted any of us close to him. We set out food for him, not wanting to see him so thin, since our indoor cats had food to spare.
One day he allowed my wife to stroke his head for the briefest of moments and soon he was on our front porch every day. He was loud, with a cry that demanded attention. He had a rather loud purr as well, suggesting he sincerely welcomed our attention.
Within a few more days, he calmed enough for us to determine that he was indeed a tomcat and not the female we thought at first. He came around in the morning for food and a little attention. In the afternoons he would see me coming down the street and run for the porch where he greeted me with his loud cries until he had his head scratched and fresh food placed in his dish.
He greeted each of us with a loud cry and immediate purr, rubbing against our legs and allowing us to now pick him up. He even tolerated a bath, never trying to bite or scratch, but his cry was something to behold.
By now he was allowed very brief excursions into our home, but his favorite spot was my lap. He would pace by the front door until he was allowed in, announced his presence to the indoor cats by eating some of their food, and waited for me to sit. He jumped into my lap, and forced me to slow down until he finished his nap.
One cold and very rainy night, he came in and I cleaned his face. He had been under one of my old cars and grease covered his fur. He again tolerated this well, almost like he knew this grease was bad stuff and he could not clean it himself. He acted more like a friend than a cat at times, purring and making me slow down life’s hectic pace while we spent time together.
The next day, he fell upon some bad luck. He came to us with a bad cut on the side of his face, under his ear. I cleaned the cut the best I could, but by that night his face was swelling. Infection was setting in rapidly. Upon taking the poor guy to the vet, we found he was fighting a bad infection, and not doing well. His immune system was compromised by FIV, and even if he won the battle, he would lose the war against this disease.
The decision was not an easy one, but Patches had to be placed in a better place. As the vet made her final preparations to send him on his way, he sat on my lap, purring softly as he did every night. He purred to the end and although I know it was much better for him to pass on in this manner, I still miss the old guy.
But like I said, he was just an old stray tomcat. Then why the hell do I miss him so much!
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