Yogi; A Life of Love
It’s been a hell of a long time since I’ve put thoughts to paper (or in this case screen.) This was written a day or so ago; my feelings are still raw, the goal was to get them down before they faded. This was written in one go with close to no editing; if there are typos, punctuation errors, or faults in my syntax I’m fine with it. I wanted it to honest, editing would have made me strip it down. I don’t think it would have been as good. We all think our furry friend is the best and I am no different; he was a great cat, I hope I did him justice.
JGS3 - 12/13/24
Here you go…..
Summing up sixteen and a half years isn’t going to be easy to do, but I’m going to make an attempt to do so as I want to record how I feel while it’s fresh. Getting a kitten in 2008 was something I wasn’t planning on, but a few events took place that allowed me to do so. The first was Katie saying that I should get a kitten (because she wanted one to play with,) the next, and more important one was that Julie Borland’s sister had a male cat to go with four females; none of which were fixed. Forty some odd kittens, and they showed me two. One wasn’t into me, and the other curled up on my lap and fell asleep. At the time I had a goatee, this kitten had a black patch on his chin. That probably would have been enough for me to take him home, but when he fell asleep on me, it was like he chose me. A few weeks later, against the wishes of my mother, who I lived with, I went to pick him up. She never believed that I was going to do it.
A few hours later I showed up with a tiny tuxedo kitten who didn’t have a name and was meowing out of fear. My mother was not pleased, and not won over immediately. Her immediate reaction was to grab a bonsai tree I had, walk on the deck and throw it across the yard.
The kitten was shaky ground for a few days, and his status in the house was tenuous at best. Somehow I convinced her to keep giving him one more day. A month or so later she was laid off from her long time job, and was then home with the kitten.
Over the first few days and weeks he was with me I tried out a few names, none of which seemed to work for him. In mid-July I remember having the MLB All Star Game on; Yogi Berra was in the booth doing an interview. I looked down at the kitten and said “how about Yogi.” It was the name that stuck.
The next few years he grew into a beautiful, friendly cat. He was never very large, everywhere he went he was loved and won people over with his personality. He went from house to house in the neighborhood collecting treats and making friends. The Donnelly’s in particular cared for him and looked after him. Many of them have reached out to offer condolences in only the way cat people can.
Yogi wasn’t without his issues; as a young cat he got into quite a few tussles and was put into quarantine from wounds from fighting. He had a cut on his stomach, bites to his tail, one of his front paws had a knuckle that was practically skinned to the bone once. On these few occasions that he wasn’t able to go out on his own, my mother and I would take him out on a leash. He didn’t love it, but he cooperated to some degree.
Over the years he came to dislike the car and would let out the most horrendous meows. To keep him calm I would sing to him. I have no idea if it did any good, but it made me feel like I was doing something to at least keep him calm.
He loved to find a patch of sun to lay in, and would lounge on the carpet, on the couch, on the deck in the warm rays. He had a knack for sitting on the railing of the deck, which was no small feat, considering it’s a 2x4 narrow side up. He managed to do it though, all the way through the summer of 2024.
Another thing he loved was a good lap. He was always friendly and affectionate, but his lap time could go on so long as to be an annoyance. I’d be trying to eat on the couch, he’d be climbing into my lap. Another of his quirks was laying between my knees, whether it be on the couch watching TV, or while in bed he’d find the spot that was best for him, but left me unable to move. When he slept with my mother he’d curl up behind her knees. A cat that weighed less than ten pounds most of his life immobilizing full grown adult humans. But you didn’t want to move, because you felt bad disturbing him.
Sitting up high was another thing he liked to do. He’d perch on the back of a reclining chair, or the couch. In my mother’s room he’d find a way on top of the bureau and make it a bed. There were also times when he’d go to the basement and lay in some bizarre spot; on top of a storage tote, or an old pop tent that was stashed somewhere. Two of the spots he liked to lay that drove me crazy was in the pink fiberglass insulation in the eaves of the attic, and on top of the knee high drawer in my room.
He was a cat that would go out in a rain storm to go to the bathroom because the litter box just wasn’t his thing, but if you flicked water on him he’d scowl and run out of the room (this was something I’d do in the kitchen after washing my hands.) Blowing in his ear would bring on a shake of the head, tapping his paw with your toe was playing with fire, as he’d swat at your or worse pounce on your foot. As much as he didn’t like his feet being touched, he loved an ear rub or a chin rub.
People complain that cats are problems because they climb on counters or ruin furniture. Yogi didn’t do either. There were times he would jump up there as a pup, or pick at the chair or couch, but the only place he usually went that he wasn’t really welcome was the dining room table, and that’s due to it getting morning sun from the east, and afternoon sun from the west. He knew where he wanted to be. We could leave food on the counter and he wouldn’t touch it. Not many cats are like that. He was trustworthy.
I’d be remiss if I left out his proclivity for hunting. He was a prodigious mouser. The local chipmunk population was in decline because of Yogi. He also brought him birds and voles. His last two catches were in May or June of this year, and he went out in style, bringing home two bunnies. In all the years he lived with us he’d never brought a bunny home before.
As an animal you are given a meal, and the person giving it expects them to eat it. Yogi, not so much. He was beyond a picky eater. What he liked on Monday he may turn his nose up at later in the week. One thing he never fussed over were treats. He’d gobble them down like the cat cookies they are. Over the summer he would walk around the house meowing. The only thing that satiated him in this period. The meowing may have been a clue that something was happening with him.
From a young age we found out he had kidney issues, and it was something that was monitored (along with a heart murmur.) Over the years they went from good, to ok, to poor, to failing. In September of this year I noticed him kind of bumming around the driveway and acting a bit strange. It dawned on me that he was having trouble seeing. A call was placed to the vet, Saturday September 14th I brought him to his regular vet’s new office. They had him for a few hours and decided that he needed a greater level of car than they were able to provide. The local VCA admitted him and took him in for exams. A few hours later we went back to check on him and get an update. They thought that with treatment he’d be ok and have more time. We opted for that and began giving him daily saline injections for hydration (the result of poor kidney function,) as well as blood pressure medicine. With his blood pressure under control his eye sight returned (although I don’t think it was as good as it had been.)
One thing was certain; his days as a free roaming outdoor cat were at an end. The cat that would jump off my lap on the floor, and bound to the arm of the recliner had lost a step; coupled with his diminished eyesight he wouldn’t be able to go out without supervision. He was no leashed and given a run of either the front yard (where he would inevitably decide to lay hidden amongst the flowers,) or the back yard where he’d try to get into another flower bed. Around this time we also began walking him. He’d go grudgingly; I found it better to carry him down the street, then let him lead me home on the leash. At first it would only be a few yards from the house, but over the weeks I’d bring him to the school yard down the street; I’d put him on the ground and he would lead me home. He’d do his business on the way, and upon arrival in the kitchen he’d get a few treats, then he’d head back to the couch. The corner of the couch was outfitted with a heating pad, from September to December 11 it was the place he was most often found. There were a few times when he decided to sleep with mom, and on one occasion he looked at me and meowed from across the room. I tapped the arm of the chair a few times, which was an invitation to come sit with me (that’s another thing, he preferred to be invited to sit with you; he had such good manners!) He jumped up and spent some time with me. That was the last time he sat with me in the chair on his own. At the time it seemed like he was getting back to his old self, but that wasn’t the case. Unbeknownst to us at the time he was getting sicker.
The next few weeks he began turning his nose up at more food that he had previously liked, instead opting for small piece of meatloaf or left over chicken. His ability to jump on the couch was diminishing, his balance was getting worse. He would have to climb up on mom’s bed, then in the final days he would have to climb onto the couch. When this started to happen I noticed his paws where getting puffy. Initially it was a forepaw, it went away on its own after a day or two. A week or so later his left rear paw got puffy. After two days it didn’t go away. Mom and I assumed it was from the medication he was on, and maybe a diuretic would take care of it.
We wanted to bring him to the vet, but didn’t want to make an appointment. By this point he wasn’t moving off the couch (this was Monday the 9th of December.) Two days earlier he and I had gone for our stroll down the park. It was cold, and had rained, so we didn’t go as far as we had the previous few trips. I put him down (I now trusted him enough to let him go off leash,) and we began the walk him. He was slow, and needed to take breaks, but we made it. I carried home over a muddy spot, and up the stairs, but by and large he went the distance himself. The next day he didn’t do as well.
Mom brought him in as a walk in; he was admitted right away. A few hours later they called her, and let her know that he had a mass in his abdomen, likely cancer and there wasn’t much to be done. She brought him home. By this point he wasn’t eating, and had also stopped drinking. She began spooning him water, I gave it to him with an eye dropper.
We decided it was time to stop his suffering. Tuesday morning from work I called an at home vet who would be able to ease his pain. It was around 9:00 AM. During the call I was a basket case. I was hoping to get one more day with him. The person on the phone said if he wasn’t drinking we shouldn’t wait. They had a doctor available at 3:00 PM that day. I acquiesced, and made the appointment. Not sure what to do, I thought I’d go home at 2:00, but realized it was selfish of me to stay away.
Leaving work at 11:30, I got home about fifteen minutes later. He was in the same spot, hadn’t move in hours. All he could do was lift his head. He’d stopped meowing a few days before (he had always been very vocal, and also stopped purring, which was absolutely devastating from a cat that purr generously.) Most disconcerting of all was his body had no fight to it, he was like a limp noodle. He had nothing left to give, it was clear when I had to hold him up. I laid him on my lap for a while, then mom decided that she wanted a turn. I moved to the chair and she sat with him until about 2:00 PM. At some point I fell asleep. When I awoke she asked to move him so she could get up. We put him back on the heating pad, and covered him to keep him warm. He remained that way until about 2:40. I was doing something across the room when he put his head up and whimpered. Looking over I asked if he was ok. He let out a second whimper, at which point I went across the room and took his head in my right palm and stroked his chest with left. He died like that, with his head in my hand. It was 2:43. He went out on his own. No injections from a stranger, nothing to be stressed over, and he gave me the ability to live without the guilt of putting down my best friend.
I love him. I will never forget him. I am heartbroken.