Originally this was just going to be called “Cats,” but then I recalled I already wrote a blog with that title something like 7 years ago. I'm not going to link that here (but I mean you can find it easily but scrolling through my old posts) because it's overall kind of a bummer entry. I'm not going to lie and say there are no bummers in here (there's two) but this is intended to be a fond remembrance sort of situation.
I was not a cat person for a lot of my adolescent life. I had some vaguely unpleasant interactions with cats a few times as a kid (basically just got hissed at a few times) and pretty much wrote off the entire species. It wasn't until I was in high school and started dating that I met my girlfriend's cat and my opinion on them changed entirely.
Here's the story of the cats I've had.
Shorty
I don't talk about this cat a for a variety of reasons. Primarily it's because we only had a few weeks together before she passed. Secondly it's because it's still a bit of a sore topic for me.
It was the summer before my senior year at WSU and the house we had recently moved in to was one of two properties leased by our rental agency that allowed pets, and that was one of many reasons we decided to move in to the building that was reportedly constructed in 1911. My roommates and I gently put out the word that we were looking for a college house kitty, and soon after my mother let me know that she had a friend who had recently inherited a cat that she wasn't it a good position to keep due to an allergy.
The cat had, within the last week or so, been to a vet to get a full checkup. She had a resounding clean bill of health.
Maybe a week or two later I'm back in Richland for the weekend and I go with my Mom to see her friend and pick up the cat. As of today this was over 11 years ago, but I remember with absolute clarity the first time I met Shorty.
We get to the house, introductions take place, then we go look for the cat. She hadn't been living here long and was still prone to hiding. The three of us looked around for her and I maintain a very clear image of when I peaked over the couch to see her staring up at me from behind it. She had stunning blue eyes and a rich gray coat of hair.
Shorty was seven years old at the time. She was adopted as a kitten by and older lady, and she unfortunately passed. I was told they were very attached.
I had done a lot of reading on how to introduce cats to a new home, and at the time I was the only person living in our college house as this was during the summer. I followed all of the steps as best as I could and things started pretty smoothly. Shorty seemed to warm up to me over the course of a few days, and by the end of the first week I could pick her up for short periods without issue.
Pullman during the summer is vastly empty compared to that of during the school year, but I still had a few friends in town. Most of them came by at some point or another and met her, and she was clearly socialized pretty well. She would greet the visitors after they had been in the house and sitting down for a while.
Still, it was pretty obvious she wasn't doing the best. At one point someone took me aside and said “hey I hate to tell you this but there is no way that cat is only 7 years old.” It came from a place of concern and I politely showed them the documents from the shelter where she was adopted, with a date clearly showing her as 7 years and some change. They were a bit shocked and maintained she had the appearance of a cat in her mid teens, but it didn't come up again.
At one point she got out when I didn't fully shut the front door. A full day went by and I was losing my mind. I had left the front door open in hopes she would come back. I was sitting on the couch in the living room staring intently at the door when I finally decided to use the bathroom. I did my business, came back out, did the biggest double take of my life and went and scooped up Shorty from where she was standing in the doorway.
Things were okay for a few days after this. I don't think she got into anything nasty while she was out as I think issues would have started closer to that period. But as time went on, she began to eat less and less. One day I woke up and saw her breakfast from the previous day was untouched. This was just about a week before my 21st birthday and I had not yet managed to find a job for the summer. I couldn't afford a vet trip then and there. So I looked up what to do in this situation and found a lot of solutions that did help at first.
I picked up some wet cat food and heated it up in the microwave so it was more “enticing” (I gagged the whole time I had to handle it), got ground turkey and chicken, cooked them up plain and served them to her, and she ate and seemed normal again, for a few days.
My 21st birthday weekend (kinda) had appeared and I planned on going home for the weekend. I actually turned 21 the following Monday, but it was easier on the Richland folks for me to be in town this weekend instead of the next. I had a trusted friend check in on Shorty while I was out. She gave me updates on if and when she was eating and while she was not consuming full portions she was having nibbles here and there.
She texts me at about 7pm that Sunday and says she's taking off from her last check in and that she hadn't eaten since that morning but appeared to be in an okay mood. I don't recall what I was doing but I didn't leave Richland until a bit before 10, putting me back at my Pullman house just a few minutes after midnight on my 21st birthday.
I had gotten a small bundle of cash given to me in the form of presents and was ready to drop it all on a vet trip. I parked my Hyundai in the driveway and ran inside excitedly, calling Shorty's name. After a few minutes of her not coming or at least meowing my heart rate shot through the fucking roof.
And finally I found her. In one of the downstairs rooms in the far corner. I knew before I got up to her but reached out to touch her nonetheless, and she was dead.
I called my girlfriend at the time, Mallory, while I clearly was not doing well, and she walked me through how to handle the situation. I am still beyond grateful for her help.
I managed to get moderately composed and really wanted to cheer myself up. Suddenly I remembered, I'm 21 now, and there are 24 hour stores in the area.
And this honestly was just a kick in the balls – I went to the local grocery stores and picked out two big cans of nice beer. I went up to the register, probably not looking so hot, and put down the two beers and handed the cashier my ID. I was really, really fishing for a simple “happy birthday!” the clerk looked at my ID, looked at me, looked at the date on his register, and then handed me back my ID without word save my total.
Like I said I only spent a few weeks (I'd guess six) with Shorty. To this day I fully believe that this cat really wasn't interested in being with anyone except the elderly woman with whom she spent her entire life, and I'd prefer to think the two are together and much happier in wherever they are now.
Splotch
About a month passed. My roommates and had moved in for the school year but class hadn't quite started yet. This probably goes without saying but this was one of the funnest times of the year. I was still a bit down from the Shorty situation, but no longer living alone helped quite a bit. Of my three roommates, only Blake had ever actually met Shorty, and only once. So it makes sense that I was the only one still kind of hurting from the situation. They were still gung-ho on having a house cat, and when we were discussing it as a group one day, Mallory chimed in, shortly after realizing her family had a cat they would be willing to part with.
Her Dad sent us a picture of Splotch, and.... I kinda went “maybe not that one.” Yea, that was awful of me. I will provide the context that it was an unflattering close up picture taken by a 2011 flip phone sent to and viewed on a 2011 slider phone – she did not look friendly or cute in this photo.
Here's some Splotch backstory: she grew up on a farm in Idaho. She was a third generation farm cat. The matriarch of the cat family, Coug, showed up to their place one day in the early 2000's. She was relocated three times as she was feral and not exactly being helpful. When she found her way back to the property for the third time, they said “fine.” They reached an implied understanding, and Coug began doing her catly duties.
Fast forward a few years/generations and Splotch is born. There is a total of something like 8 cats on this farm, one pet cat and seven farm cats (these numbers are probably off slightly). The farm cats were exclusively outdoor animals, and the cat with the “pet” designation was allowed in and outside.
From what I was told, Splotch was essentially bullied relentlessly by her family. Mallory's family noticed and took pity, and also allowed Splotch occasional indoor privileges.
Then it finally happened, after the yearly Priest Lake trip in 2013, Blake, Mallory, and myself stopped by her family's house on our way back to WSU. We had some excellent lamburgers for lunch and they asked if we wanted to meet Splotch. Blake and I both said yes, and turned around to see that unique calico coat turn the corner. We got up from the table and sat near her, and she immediately collapsed on her side between us, screaming “pet me!” Honestly we were ready to take her then and there, but we were already cramped in my coupe with three people and our bags for the weekend. Also, we acknowledged it needed to be a house decision.
From what I recall the conversation lasted like 12 seconds. Blake, Ozzie, Ben, and I all agreed we'd take the cat next opportunity we had. It turns out that was just a few weeks later at WSU homecoming, where Mallory's parents came up, complete with a kitty in a carrier.
We all know that most weekends are party weekends at WSU. Homecoming was always an especially rowdy time, and we decided it would be best to take her upstairs and let her get used to the house in a calm room while people generally went nuts downstairs. The upstairs rooms consisted of Blake's and mine's, and because Splotch was used to the scent of Mallory it would make the most sense if she spent the first day or two in my room (hehe).
So we had a party that night. I kept intending to go downstairs and join but I just couldn't take my eyes off of Splotch as she inspected every millimeter of my room. Throughout the night people would come upstairs one or two at a time, and come in to meet Splotch. She got a lot of oohs and ahhs and directed at her fur coat.
Sunday finally comes around and the house has quieted down. Splotch had gotten the grand tour of the upstairs on Saturday and we showed her the rest of the main house throughout the day on Sunday. The residence had a large unfinished basement that I used as a bedroom for most of the summer (much easier to sleep down there in the heat) and we figured we should show her the whole house while we were at it.
We take her downstairs and she sniffs around until she sees the gap below the staircase. Like I said I spent a lot of time in the basement during the summer, and Shorty had been with me for a lot of that. She went into the little space below the stairs at one point, explored, then came back. So when Splotch went to do the same I didn't think much of it. Blake even said “dude grab her” and I said she'd be fine.
She goes into the hole, and we wait. And wait some more. Then just a tiny bit more. Suddenly we grab a drill and remove the section of wood paneling to go after her. Finally, we see the last bits of daylight shining through from underneath the house. As it turns out, this hole in under the stairs leads outside if you're small enough.
So I start to freak out. The cat is out, and I could've stopped it. We take her food and water downstairs every day and it's always gone a few hours later. This was only mildly comforting as I had unfortunately discovered there were mice living in the basement toward the end of the summer, so we couldn't be sure it was actually Splotch eating it. The next weekend Mallory's Dad drops off a cat trap. We deploy the trap, place food in the back, and two hours later we have our cat back..... for the first time.
She escaped twice more but never learned how to avoid the trap. To everyone's immense delight she finally understood that this was now her home, and even after she managed to get into the basement in the future she always came back without needing to use the trap.
During the particularly wild weekends when we'd have friends stay over and the living room was already occupied, people would start crashing on the couches in the basement (I left out the bits about the mice when we had that many people over). Whenever the house got too busy and people were going in and out of the basement, Splotch would quietly excuse herself and spend the weekend exploring the neighborhood before reliably coming back on Sunday evenings.
She doled out affection pretty evenly amongst us. It was rare for any of us to keep our doors fully shut all night as she liked to spend the night where she pleased and often moved between rooms while we slept.
And cat-wise the rest of the school year went pretty smoothly. It did not take long before she'd run to the smell of burning weed, because it took her about two seconds to figure out that stoned people=people that want to pet a cat. She really was an awesome college cat.
Graduation was swiftly approaching. After a handful of discussions we decided I'd be the one to take Splotch after we all moved out. The problem was that I was moving back in with my parents initially, and there was no way in hell they'd let a cat move in. So Splotch went back to Idaho for a few months while I lived with my parents, found a job, and moved in with a friend from high school.
This is another memory that's now approaching a decade old that I recall vividly. Mallory was coming in to town for the first time since I moved into the house in North Richland, and she was bringing Splotch. I got home, hugged Mallory, and asked were Splotch was. At the time she was hiding inside a recliner chair, but it only took about a minute of us coaxing for her to come out. She seemed legitimately pleased to see me and was open to exploring the small house.
The period of my life in which I lived on Platt street is one of those that I look back on the fondest. I was living with someone from high school, Emily, and while we were always friendly with each other we never got close while still attending RHS. But we really clicked as roommates. We put a thin strip of duct tape on the CRT TV and watched Friends while playing the mustache game (whenever the piece of tape lined up as a mustache we'd take a drink). We got Woo's and Domino's probably too much and never had any major disagreements.
She also had a dog, Stetson. Splotch was used to dogs and Stetson had met cats so it wasn't really an issue. Stetson was very attached to Emily. He tolerated me but never went out of his way to hang out with me when Emily was out. In the few weeks I lived there before Splotch came down, Stetson spent all of his time on Emily's bed when she was out. On day two that I got home from work after Splotch's return, Stetson was sitting just outside Emily's room, which was highly irregular.
I almost never went in to her room, especially if she wasn't home, but I went to turn her light on and to my total lack of surprise I see Splotch, laying right in the middle of Emily's bed. She gave me a look that was cat speak for “yea bitch, this is my house now.”
Stetson and Splotch eventually learned to coexist pretty contently. I'd come home and check her room briefly to see Stetson now barely hanging the very edge of the bed, then as time went on they'd be laying next to each other. I don't think they ever quite cuddled, but the tolerated each other's presence without issue.
The time at the Platt house came to an end pretty quickly. I made the rash decision (detailed extensively in the anxiety blog) about moving to Seattle, and Emily moved out at a similar time. Splotch again went back to Idaho until I had a place to rent on the west side.
I'm going to skip a lot of stuff here but Splotch wise it's pretty unimportant. We moved to Bellevue, then to Seattle, then after a lot of shit we moved in with my parents. To make a long story very short my parents were worried about me, and when they said I could bring Splotch with me if I moved back home I truly realized the gravity of the situation and took them up on it.
And Splotch was really happy at my parent's house I think. She had a nice big, clean house to run around in, got supervised outside time, and even had someone she could drive absolutely insane (my Dad). Cats love people that try to ignore them, and Splotch would wait outside my parent's door every morning so that my Dad did not have a single second to himself before he left for work. She'd rub up against him while he was trying to do his morning stretch, yell at him to try to get him to feed her early, and generally just be as obnoxious as possible (in his eyes).
Time passes and I finally land a new job working in IT, save up some money, and move out in August of 2020 to a small apartment in Kennewick.
The first night I was in my apartment I celebrated with Ozzie (who also helped me move, thanks again bud). It was rather late by the time we finished and I knew we'd probably get kind of loud, and I decided to wait to move Splotch in until the next day. After I got Ozzie an Uber home and I laid in bed, basking my the fact I was again in my own place, and really toyed with the idea of getting a round trip Uber home to get my cat. Luckily for all involved I feel asleep before that.
Finally (well, the next day) I have Splotch moved in. She explores a bit (it's a small enough place that I let her just explore the whole place) and gives me a look that says “it's alright I guess.”
When I first got Splotch she was estimated to be about 7 years old. She was now 15, and if I'm being honest I do think the move at her old age made her go downhill pretty fast.
I knew she had lost some weight but I didn't truly realize how bad it was until a friend came over, he hadn't seen Splotch for a few months and immediately commented on how skinny she was in a worried tone. I had a slight come to Jesus moment and took her to the vet a few days later.
The vet ran some tests and pointed out she had dropped nearly 40% of her body weight since her last visit. They didn't find anything clearly wrong with her but prescribed some medication.
I was largely in denial. Her decline was not nearly as quick as Shorty's. But one December evening I walked up to my computer desk and she was laying just next to the keyboard with her head just barely hanging off the desk. It was honestly adorable. Then she didn't wake up. I said her name several times, nudged her head, and while she wasn't stiff she was not responding at all. Just as I was shakily grabbing my phone to call my Mom, Splotch woke up and looked at me. She was clearly trying to say “this is real, this is happening, I am old, please come to terms with it.”
My parents invited me over for dinner a few days later and I remember it was difficult to remain composed but I managed to tell them that I was fully aware that this would be my last Christmas with Splotch.
And it was a very nice Christmas. My Dad will probably never admit it but he did eventually develop a fondness for her. He told me “hey your sister and Bill and bringing their dogs over for Christmas, Mom said you can bring Splotch over if you want” (I later confirmed they never talked about this and it was in fact my Dad inviting the cat over).
While yes it's generally inadvisable to move around a senior cat, taking her back to my parents house was for a few days was nice for everyone. Splotch immediately knew where she was and showed no signs of struggling with a different environment. She opened her stocking Christmas morning and annoyed my Mom by playing with the lights on the Christmas tree.
Shortly after New Years it became clear that her time was growing very short. Finally the vet visit occurs where they ultimately say it's time to start thinking about maintaining her quality of life, and there isn't much more to be done.
And there were some fun times with Splotch during this period. She had always been good at not getting on kitchen counters or stealing food. But she knew her time was swiftly approaching, and all rules went out the window. At one point she hadn't eaten for nearly a day and I made a frozen pizza for my dinner. I took it out of the oven and sliced it, then left it to cool for a few minutes. I came back to find her absolutely chowing down on a slice and all I felt was happiness, she was eating.
A few days later she wasn't eating anything. Turkey, chicken, bacon, fries, pizza, all the stuff she had loved and would always eat.
Finally it's a Thursday night and I'm up until almost dawn with her as she's vomiting, having spasms, and a variety of other things that signified a clear end of the line.
I made an appointment with my vet that morning and bought a bottle of Crown during my lunch. My Mom picked us up and drove us to the vet, and we said our final goodbyes. I thanked her for getting me through so much of the shit that I dealt with over the last few years.
We were with her until the very end.
My Mom dropped me off and I pulled myself together for a while. I played video games with friends who knew what was going on for several hours. I put a good dent in the bottle of Crown. At some point the last person got off, and asked if I was okay before they did. I assured them I was fine and moved to my couch, where I had a monitor with a Chromecast hooked up.
I queued up the season 2 finale of The Mandalorian, knowing exactly what I was doing to myself. I watched the whole thing, and at the very end when (spoilers) Luke leaves in the elevator with Grogu after the emotional goodbye, I bawled my absolute eyes out. It was perhaps one of the most cathartic experiences of my life.
As a kid a had gerbils twice. They were... okay, but there was never much of a bond that developed. I had Shorty for less than two months and while I was devastated when I found her alone, I was able to move on after a while.
Splotch was the one consistent thing in my life for eight years. She was present for several moves, a really nasty breakup, the lowest of my mental states, as well as some of the best times of my life.
I have so god damn many pictures of this cat and I really thought it would wreck me every time a Snapchat memory came up that was just a barrage of Splotch. This actually wasn't the case. I got drunk and cried a lot that first night, and then after a while things started to improve.
I sent Mallory's Dad a message on Facebook to thank him for giving us Splotch so many years ago. He sent a kind reply.
I miss you Splotch.
Sera
Okay, the two bummers are out of the way.
Late on May 14th, 2021, Ashley sent me a text that said “Hey, you busy tomorrow? You want to look at titties?”
I smiled and knew the chances of going to a strip club with my cousin in-law tomorrow were in fact pretty much 0, and tried to think of something clever to say. Before I have the chance she sends the next text saying simply “I mean kitties?”
All I could respond with was “either one works.”
And so the next morning we're at the rescue shelter in Pasco with Katie. There's some sort of adoption drive going on and kittens are all in a caged outdoor area. I'd never had a kitten and didn't really want to get one right now. Partially because older cats are less likely to be adopted, and partially because kittens and without a doubt more work. I live alone and was working full time, so a kitten didn't seem like the wise choice.
We asked to see the other cats and went back to the room featuring cages with something like 20 cats. I met two or three, all of them being let out of their cage and then wandering around to inspect the people in the room. While this was happening there was one cat in a bottom cage who kept rubbing up against the edge of the enclosure. As I'm about to asked if I can meet this one, the cat manages to rub her face against the lock just right so she opens in and lets herself out. She approaches me briefly and sniffs me before checking out the rest of the room. I felt a connection pretty quickly as she was so eager to get out and meet us.
Her name is Seraphine, and I think to myself, wow, that's kind of a lot for a cat. I'd probably shorten that to Sera.
The clinic worker picks her up like a baby and says “yea, that's usually the sign of a pretty chill cat.” Ashley and Katie look at me encouragingly and I say okay, let's do it.
A few minutes later as Sera is being processed I'm thinking to myself this is moving really fast – and I vocalize my thoughts. I ask Ashley if I'm maybe moving a bit too quickly and she asks me “do you love her?” to which I respond yes without hesitation. She smiles, I do the same, and a few minutes later we're on our way back to my apartment with Sera in a cardboard carrier.
She didn't do very well on the ride home and had managed to almost claw her way out of the cardboard device. We got her in to my apartment, Ashley and Katie gave me a big smile and shared some words on encouragement, then took off.
I introduced Shorty and Sera to the old Pullman house very gradually. My apartment is far smaller and I figured to be safe I'd let Sera explore the living room, then we'd post up in my room for a while until she seems comfortable.
It was damn near instant. I let her out of the carrier, she sniffed around the living room and kitchen, then gave me a “now what?” look. She warmed up to me and her new home so damn quickly.
I'll admit that I was again at a pretty stressed out point in my life. I was dry heaving before work pretty regularly. After I got Sera I went a full three weeks without any of my famous “AYUUGHK” noises to start the day.
She's currently curled up in my lap. I love this cat.
Things with Sera haven't been perfect. She was estimated to be one year old when I got her, which is “technically” considered adult age for cats. There are times when I feel I need to double check the paperwork I got with her to make sure I didn't actually get a puppy. I still can't leave unattended food out in any capacity. I once bought a bag of cat food, came home, set it down, used the bathroom, then came out and picked the bag up to put it in the closet. When I picked it up it soon became clear that in the 50 or so seconds that I was in the bathroom she had torn multiple holes in the bag as food spilled everywhere.
She gets fed twice a day like most cats, but she wants to be fed three hours early at least. This means that if I feed her last thing before I left for work at around 7:45, she gets hungry at around 5. She has mastered waking me up. She knows how to pull my blankets off me, how to turn my lamp on, how to raise the fucking blinds, and if all else fails, how to smack me in the face.
When I got my second covid vaccine I was the third of three on my work team to do so. The other two had called in sick the day after their dosage. I told my manager I would let him know how I was feeling in the morning, and he assured me they'd plan around my absence just to be safe. That's how I know that second shot kicked my ass – I slept through my alarm, my second alarm, Sera pulling my blankets off me, literally knocking my lamp over onto my face (I woke up with it laid across my nose), and honestly who knows what else. I called my manager first thing and apologized but he just laughed and reminded me they had planned for this.
I don't really know what she does when I'm gone all day but all I can really imagine is that it's bicep curls. A few months after I got her, I returned home from work to find my fridge open and food across the floor. I put a chair in front of the door and placed a box full of books on it. Opening it was a pain in the ass even for me. Still, no matter how much shit I stack on it she is able to open it. I've now removed all the food from the small section of the interior that she can reach, so even if she opens it she can't actually retrieve any of the contents.
Then came a wildly stressful day – I can count on one hand the number of times I've talked to my downstairs neighbor. One day at work I got call from my apartment complex saying that the gal who lives below me called them saying they could hear a cat freaking the fuck out. I got approval from my manager to check on her, got home, and found the fridge open.
She managed to get in further than ever before and into to a box of takeout from.... too long ago. She busted into it and went to town, and it was not going well. I managed to get into my vet. They gave me some super fun stuff to help her “get it all out,” and get it all out she did. It was disgusting. But she was fine. And still is today!
When I leave town for a weekend I have an auto feeder and a two large water bowls I fill for her. Still, I have broken microwave that I set between the aforementioned chair and sink counter, so that opening the fridge is literally impossible. I could spend $8 on child locks but I mean.... Yea, I should spend $8 on child locks.
Sera almost always comes to me when called. If I get out of bed to pee in the middle of the night you better believe she's watching my back. She's always waiting for me when I get home. She keeps me company while I make food (and occasionally gets nibbles). If it weren't for her I'm confident I would be cripplingly lonely alone in this small domicile. I am still beyond thankful that Ashley and Katie gave me the shove to get a cat again.
Like I mentioned earlier Sera has been cuddled up with me as I write this entire thing. As I'm sure you can imagine some parts weren't easy to write. I'm currently 32 and barring any extreme circumstances it's likely I'll still have this cat when I'm 40. And I think that's wonderful.
