Spots was a special kitty, he was a giant harlequin bicolor cat that lived longer than any other cat ever had on the farm. He hung out on a couch or chair most of the time over the past few years as Poppie slowed down and Nana went from walking to the wheelchair to the bed. He was happy to lay next to her, but scratches happened and he was mostly a couch potato instead of a lap cat. Spots was smart, if it was too hot or too cold outside, he knew how to get inside the house through the little attic door. He made himself at home until he was discovered and relocated downstairs or outside.
Spots disappeared for months one time, and Poppie was sure he was gone for good. We will never know if someone took him and he found his way home, if he lived off the land (field mice and squirrels,) or if he had another home for a while and returned to Nana and Poppie's for good.
Poppie had him neutered, fed him stinky pate canned food, and cleaned the litter boxes when Nana couldn't do it anymore. As he got older, Poppie never wanted him to go outside, he worried that something would happen to him.
After Poppie died in December, the cats were outside more than inside. He would come inside to eat his morning and night can of food, sit on the couch or bed, and then go back outside.
I go to see Nana almost every week, when I can't, Number One daughter will go. She has some funny videos of Spots opening the big, heavy door, coming in through the attic door, and sitting in her lap and making her gag with his carrion flatulence. I had been seeing him less and less but was assured that he came to the house to eat with the other cats at night.
Two weeks ago, I made the trip by myself. At least one of the kids usually comes with me, but Number One son was working, Number Two Son and Number Two daughter had a summer cold with a cough. Since it was Father's Day weekend, I planned to get up early and drive to Veterans Memorial in Houston. I packed up my bags and went to the window to close the curtains. I saw Spots on the step of the pool. I rushed outside to check on him and sure enough, he was thin and not using one of his back legs. When he wouldn't eat more than a few bites, I knew he needed to go to the Vet. I firmly believed that my Daddy chose the animal lover (me) to take care of his beloved kitty. I drove home to Austin instead of the cemetery on Father's Day. He curled up on the passenger seat in a big fluffy towel and stayed there all the way home. I couldn't imagine what happened to Spots. I thought maybe a big bird had dropped him in the pool. At some point, I remembered that Spots was a swimming cat! He got in the pool on his own, but how he got hurt was still a mystery.
Hubby is the best pet nurse! He sat outside and watched him scoot around in the flower beds. Spots ate a few bites of food, but not much. He drank some water and got comfy in a crate.
I dropped him off at the Vet Tuesday morning. I wrote a 2-page biography and attached this picture (May of 2024.) He had a broken leg with an infection that might need to be amputated and a large abscess on his hip. Considering his age and condition, his bloodwork was good. Spots was dehydrated and in pain. The next day they sedated him and cleaned out the access, and sent a fluid sample to make sure he was on the right antibiotic. His pelvis and ribs were not broken. The Vet was fairly certain that he had been attacked by a dog. The daily phone calls from the vet were about the same, he didn't have much of an appetite. Monday morning the vet called and told me that he had passed away. I was in shock, she was crying, we all wanted him to pull through. I was so confused, why would Poppie orchestrate me finding Spots only for him to die? This haunted me all week long. I believe my Dad is in heaven, as far as I know, he died in a state of grace. I felt like this was mean-spirited and hurtful, but saints in heaven aren't mean. I was in the car with Number Two son and he asked how I was doing. He is the most theological of the kids and he shared his perspective. Poppie didn't want Spots to die alone in the woods. I made sure he was with people. The Vet and Vet techs had been holding him and loving on him all week. He was not alone.
When we were growing up on a farm, sometimes a beloved cat or dog would disappear and we would never know what happened to them. Years later, Nana told us that she or Poppie found them dead and didn't tell us to spare our feelings. The result of not knowing what happened resulted in fear, trauma, nightmares, tummy aches, and bad conduct grades for "daydreaming." I believe Poppie apologized to me from heaven by letting me KNOW what happened to Spots.
We buried Spots yesterday, he got to go home to Pattison.
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