The bright light that was Spots K. Wilding went out at 7:20 p.m. Wednesday. He ultimately was unable to make urine and, I could tell in the last 80 or so minutes I spent with him that he was done. An age of 8 years old is entirely too young for any cat to go (and I’m getting a biopsy done to satisfy my curiosity).
That said, many of my friends know me to be long-winded, verbose, and somewhat overly dramatic when it comes to my feelings, but I just can’t help myself. So, I wrote a tribute to my cat. My late girlfriend/life partner/fiancée/et cetera Laura Carlson and I didn’t have kids, so our cats are like our kids and, with her gone, these are all I have left of her, and I just lost her favorite one tonight. Without further ado …
Spots K. Wilding (the “K.” Stands for “Kitten”) ― The Ocicat
August 17, 2013 ― March 30, 2022
Eight years and seven-plus months are not nearly enough for you to have graced us with your presence, Spots. You deserved at least double that, but it wasn’t meant to be. Laura and I did everything we could for you to give you the best possible life that you could have, and I did the best I could once she passed away. We gave you the best big brother a kitty could have in Little Boris BlueSky and a couple of interesting companions and sometimes foes in the twins Boogle and Nikki. Everyone marveled (I hate talking in past tense so much already) at how graceful you were, how gorgeous your coat was, and what a loving and devoted kitty you were. You’ve only been gone from this plane for less than an hour and I can’t begin to express how much I miss you already:
- I miss the raspy little kitten voice you had when we picked you up at Norfolk International Airport after your long plane ride from California that November day back in that horrible year of 2013
- I miss how you had those big ears and small head when we first saw you and a slight point to your head that you never lost and how your head grew into your ears but they were still big and pointy and you could hear one of us from several rooms away and would come running happily to find either one of us
- I miss how you loved to chase the laser beam for minutes on end and would play fetch with your toys like you had a little canine in you
- I miss how, when nobody would play with you, you would pick up your toys ― like the birds and the bumblebees ― and would make them come to life until somebody would get the hint and throw them for you
- I miss how when Little Boris came into our lives you immediately adopted him as your brother from another mother and you became inseparable until the day that I had to have you hospitalized
- I miss those backward sneezes of yours that, when I first heard them, scared me but came to realize were just the way cats of your breed tended to sneeze, although I never got used to them and they always worried me
- I miss how when you were feeling especially affectionate, especially at bedtime, you would give me love bites ― usually on the tip of my nose, or sometimes on my cheekbones, hands, arms, or fingers ― you really were so full of love
- I miss how when the sun would come in the front window or in the cat room, I could invariably find you there sunning yourself and moving along with the sunbeam
- I miss how whenever I would come home with something from a fast-food place or heat up something in the microwave you would bug me because you suspected that I had something for you ― and you were often right (Chick-fil-A grilled nuggets with the seasonings rinsed off were his favorite)
- I miss how when I was in the kitchen cooking something and your intuition invariably told you that I was making a small steak, which I dubbed and labeled lovingly “Spots’ steak,” and that you were about to get some, and woe to any other cat (I’m looking at you, Nikki), who tried to grab a piece of Spot’s steak
- I miss how after Spike died the way that you filled as Laura’s favorite kitty admirably ― there are so many photos of you and her together and you alone and you with Little Boris that I could make an entire large picture book called “Spots the Ocicat”
- I miss how after Laura died you and I got to be so close, such as you when you sat or laid down beside me on my blue desk every day and night while I worked, then how you would follow me when I would go downstairs or make your uninvited entrances into the bathroom
- I miss how that, when you decided I was done with work, you would make a point of getting between me and that work, and then keep getting between me and that work until you got your way ― even if only temporarily
- I miss how in the last couple of years you and I slept together every night, usually following the same routine: I get into bed and you get on my chest with your face an inch or two from mine, sometimes even going so far as to groom my beard until either I couldn’t stand it any longer or you decided you were done; then, you either going down to lay in a semicircle between my legs or cradling yourself in one of my arms, where you would stay all night ― only leaving to use the litter box or get something to eat or drink
- I miss that rasp-like tongue of yours that could take the paint off an old battleship and you used ― with love ― to groom my arm, face or whatever was handy ― as well as Little Boris and yourself
- I miss how when I would talk to you that you would often answer back ― as if you understood me and were trying to answer me the best way that you could
- I miss how you went nuts for any kind of treat and were so loving to get them, even standing on your hind legs
- I miss how aggressive you would get when the catnip or catmint came out and how you would roll around on the floor incessantly, scattering the bits all over the floor
- I even miss what a pain you were to get into your carry case or kennel when it was time for the vet, even though you eventually grew to like the kennel so much that you would sleep in it when it was in the office
- I miss that handsome, expressive face of yours, always wondering what you were thinking and sorry that I accused you of being food driven as much as I did because I know it was much more than that with you, especially after Laura died
I often wonder if you ever recovered from her death and even if maybe this isn’t a part of it, as if maybe your immune system had become compromised somehow because you’ve been sad for the past three years. I don’t know and I am not sure I ever will.
Laura always believed in the Rainbow Bridge and I’ve mentioned how she felt that the Spike Jonze’s video for Weezer’s “Island in the Sun” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0C3zgYW_FAM…) was the way that it would be at the end of the Rainbow Bridge. I’m hoping that as soon as you passed from here you went straight into her arms and running around and playing with her and our other cats (say hi to Shawnee and Hoppy for me) ― and I hope she’s not mad at me because you’re there less than three years after she got there.
I love you very much, Spots, and will miss you every day. Thanks for being a part of my life. Those definitely were your good boy spots!
The Journalism Gypsy 