My Boy George

It’s been a month today. A month since we said good bye to our beloved George. Georgie Cat. Georgie-weorgie. King George. So many names he had over a long, well-lived life.

I got George in mid-April of 1996. I was single at the time, and living in a small, slightly wretched apartment in Secaucus, New Jersey. My brother and then sister-in-law were about to move in with a friend while their new house was being built and needed someone to take care of their cat, Marley. So I headed down there for the weekend to pick her up. Over that weekend, we made a trip to the local pet store for something fish related for Doug. Cindy and I happened upon the “free kittens” while we were wandering around. There, in one of the cages, were four of the most adorable, tiny little tabby cats. They were 7 weeks old. We ooooed and awwwwed. Then a woman came along and took three of the four kittens, leaving one lone sweetie in the cage. How terrible!! This poor little guy had just lost all his siblings at once! How could she DO that???? Cindy said to me “You HAVE to take him!” I protested. “I can’t afford to take care of myself – how can I afford to take care of a pet??” She asked the man if he could please bring the kitten out. He handed him to her, and she promptly passed him to me, knowing that I would no longer be able to resist. He fit into my hands and weighed a mere 2 pounds. I was sold.

So that weekend, I went home with two cats instead of one! But Marley was with me for less than a year. I shared an entire life with George.

What a cat he turned out to be! Frisky as a kitten for sure – I got my share of nips and scratches, and he got into plenty of mischief. But at night, he would curl up on my head and purr in my ear, lulling us both to sleep. He was good company for me at a time when I felt very alone in the world. I often took harmless ribbing from friends about being a single woman with a cat! But that didn’t last long….

Along came Mitch, in the beginning of 1997. George didn’t take to him at first since he wasn’t used to having anyone else around messing with him. But it wasn’t long before he realized (as did I!) that this arrangement was going to be permanent. We were to be three, and soon, George was as loving to Mitch as he was to me. Though I often reminded Mitch that George was here first and that I’d send him packing before the cat! Ha!!

George saw many homes – we started out in the Secaucus apartment. Then the bigger (much nicer!) apartment that Mitch and I moved into together in Cedar Grove, New Jersey. Then, when we decided to move south, Mitch moved first and George and I spent 5 months living with Doug and Cindy in Burlington Township, New Jersey. Then we joined Mitch in Manassas, Virginia in the small condo that he owned from before he moved to New Jersey. Five years there, then we bought our townhouse in Alexandria. Almost five years there, then we lived with Mitch’s parents for a couple of months while this house was being built. Then finally, he lived here in Gainesville. That’s seven different places!! And he adjusted fine every single move.

Just like he adjusted to the many changes in our lives. He went from being the only cat, to sharing his space when we took Felix in.

Then along came Tyler. Then Evan. Then Madelyn. But he persevered! He got a little less attention as the demands of parenthood took most of my time, but he kept himself in the picture, and was so very tolerant of the attention he got from the children!! He let them know when they were being too rough, but he never hurt them.

He also truly had 9 lives! So many surgeries!! The usual of course – neutering and declawing. He had a really tough time with the declawing, and I still feel guilty about it. And while we were living with my brother, he got a lump in his neck that had to be surgically removed. Luckily, it turned to be benign. Then, in 2000, he almost died. Over the period of several weeks (possibly months??), he had been going under our bed and eating the nylon threads from our box spring! I won’t get into how I discovered what he was doing, but it culminated in a rush to a 24 hour emergency vet at 6:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning. It turned out, he was filled with this thread – it was tangled through his system from stem to stern – and it took a four hour surgery and five incisions along his underside to remove it all. And to make matters worse, because of the length of the surgery, the heating pad melted through the plastic holder they had him in and he sustained serious burns to his back. He spent at least a week at the vet, and then had to have weekly visits to tend to the burn on his back. This went on for months, and needless to say, there was no charge. I’m sure the vet knew that we could have sued their pants off, but we didn’t. We were just glad that he was alive.  Then in 2007, yet another surgery to remove a nasty abscessed tooth.

But through it all, he was the best cat. Ever present and a revered member of our family. Easy going, and always sweet. Always up for a snuggle, or willing to be used as a foot warmer. For most of his life, he slept on my side of the bed at my feet. He never minded if I wriggled my feet underneath him, he would just wrap himself around the lump and go back to sleep. In the last couple of years, he stopped sleeping on the bed. Most nights his arthritis was too much for him to come upstairs and jump on the bed.

In the last three years, he endured a diagnosis of hyper-thyroidism – discovered after a rapid 7 pound weight loss, worsening arthritis for which he was on steroids, and the loss of his buddy Felix. But what finally got him, what we finally were unable to fix for him, was a brain tumor.

Since Felix died, George seemed to go downhill rather quickly. And in his last few months, his behavior became more and more bizarre. When I took him for a routine blood check, the vet did some tests of his motor functions, and determined that he most likely had a brain tumor. She said we could take him to a neurologist and spend thousands of dollars to get a definitive diagnosis, and that it might even be operable. But even she didn’t recommend that route. He was old, and even if he had surgery, there is no telling whether he would survive much longer after that. She suggested we take him home, up his steroids for comfort, give him lots of love, and we would know when the time was right. So that’s what we did.

He did ok for about a month, but then he stopped eating. He had more trouble staying on his feet – his legs would just collapse underneath him, and he kept trying to crawl into tiny spaces. I began to worry about how much pain he was probably now in. Suddenly, it was clear. He made it easier for us. On February 28th, I called the vet and made an appointment for the next day.

On the morning of March 1st, the day before what would have been George’s 17th birthday, I gently swaddled him up in a towel and snuggled him on the whole ride to the vet. I would not let him take his last journey in a carrier. He was pretty out of it by then, so he didn’t do his usual complaining about being in the car.

I hope he knew. I hope he knew what he brought to my life all those years ago, and what he continued to provide throughout his life. He was a constant, consistent source of love and comfort. Though he could be a nuisance – tripping me by being nearly always being underfoot! – I was always glad he was there. I hope he knew what an important member of this family he was. I hope he felt the love that I had for him, even when my attention became so divided. I hope he knew how much he was going to be mourned and missed. I hope he knew that this last act was not only the right thing, but the ONLY thing left that we could do to take care of him.

I took my time saying my good-byes, rubbing his nose and his velvety ears, and kissing the top of his head like I had probably a million times before. I thanked him, and promised him that the hurt was going to go away now. And then he was gone.

I took comfort in the thought of him meeting up with Felix at the gates of Kitty Heaven, and the two of them running off to play – together again and for always.

I miss him every day. But I still feel him here, and that makes it easier. He is back home with us now, sharing the shelf with Felix. But it’s not that presence I feel. It’s his spirit. It will stay with me always.