- Joined
- Dec 7, 2023
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- Purraise
- 219
On August 31st, 2020, I moved into a tiny studio apartment in a suburb of NYC. After unpacking my things, I made an appointment with the local SPCA to come meet a cat a few days later. I hadn't been able to have a cat for years and missed them, so my first priority when finally in a place I could have one was to adopt one.
That very night, my mom texted me a video of a long, lanky cat, with the caption meet mr. peanut.
I called her immediately to find out what was going on. At the time, my mom lived in my grandma's apartment in a senior citizen-only complex. My late grandfather had been the super for decades, so she knew everyone there. The super at the time was dating my aunt, and they were both huge cat lovers. It sounded like earlier that day, some of the residents sitting outside noticed a very harried woman carrying a tiny cat carrier in a very frantic sort of way. They called her over to ask what was going on, and she told them that the cat--Mr. Peanut--had to go, she and his owner couldn't take care of him anymore, it was an emergency, and that she'd decided the best place for him was the feral colony in the nearby church's graveyard. The residents asked her to give them the cat, knowing the super and my aunt would find him a place to stay, and she did. She told them he was "probably 8 or 9" and said he was being seen at a specific vet downtown.
The super took the cat in and brought him into a recently emptied apartment while they tried to arrange a place for him to go. My aunt often rescued the cats left behind by residents when they passed away or moved to assisted living, so she was a pro at this. Fortunately for her, she did not have to do much work with this one.
"Pick me up early tomorrow," I told my mom. "I'm gonna meet him."
I knew as soon as I met him that he was my cat. He came up to me immediately, with a big, assertive meow, and rubbed his face against my hand like "there you are." I declared my immediate intent to adopt him. I needed no other information. I had to finalize some paperwork for my building, but the next day I came back to take him to the vet and then to my home.
It was then we learned that no, Mr. Peanut had not been to this vet. In fact, his microchip still had his very first rescuer's information on it, and the vet had to clear it with her before releasing him to me. Thankfully, the woman who he was connected to was very happy to hear that one of her very old foster babies was finding a new home, and he came home with me the night of September 2, 2020.
There was nothing peanut-like about him. He was a big cat, nearly 16 inches tall and 24 inches from nose to rump. He had the energy of an old Italian electrician, so I named him Lou. It was short for Llywellyn, the King of Wales (hence his IG: kingofwails) but over the years he was mostly "my Louie Lou."
There was no hiding, no fear. He immediately made himself at home. He slept with me the first night. The vet had estimated that 8-9 was a conservative guess but that he could be older or younger. I didn't care. He had some immediate issues--namely, he didn't seem to be litter box trained. He went, without reservation, in the bathtub. I figured we would work on that. I didn't care. I loved him wholly and entirely.
The next day, his original rescuer called me. She had gotten my number from the vet. She was thrilled to know he was with me. I asked her about the litter box thing, and she told me that, if he had eventually been given to the person she suspected he may have, she didn't like litter boxes and trained all her cats to use the tub. She also told me that she remembered rescuing "Peanut" much longer ago. I didn't care. Whether he was 8 or 11, I was gonna love him and treat him like a cat with all the potential in the world.
And I did. He picked up the litter box very quickly, and only ever used the bathtub when he had medical issues. He did have a lot of medical issues with no identifiable cause. He was chronically constipated and no amount of pumpkin or fiber or Miralax helped. He gained a ton of weight very quickly for no understandable reason, and had to go on a prescription food to lose it. I had spreadsheets of every thing he ate, every time he pooped, every time he threw up. With time and patience, he started feeling better, and... again, I didn't care if he threw up or pooped in the tub or anything. I happily paid thousands of dollars to have his teeth taken care of. I would have done anything for him and I did anything for him I could. He was my baby and my best friend.
It was just the two of us for two years. I worked from home most of the time and he never left my side. He understood me in a way nobody else ever has, and I understood him too. He was a friendly, confident cat who loved everybody he met. He had a special fondness for maintenance staff and repairmen; he forged bonds with the HVAC mechanic over a particularly hot summer when my AC blew out. He could tell when I was about to have a migraine and would usher me into bed and would curl up on my chest, paw on my head, and purr loud and deep until I fell asleep. I would look into his big green eyes and feel like everything was all right in the world, even when it wasn't. As long as he was there, I knew I would be okay.
We moved upstate in early 2022. I got my first tattoo--him, his favorite Yeowww! banana, and my favorite pansies. In August, we welcomed a new friend, Rory. After a slow introduction, they got along wonderfully, and it was so lovely to see that adding a cat brought something new and vibrant into his life. I started thinking he would live longer than I expected, as he seemed so healthy. His bloodwork was always perfect. His weight had gotten down to his goal. He even was starting to have normal BMs, thanks to a different prescription food. And Rory kept him active and playful. I was so happy with my perfect little family.
Then in September 2023--three years after I took him in--something changed. It was very sudden. Overnight, he no longer wanted to play with Rory. He didn't want to jump up on his cat trees. I have always had cat stairs around, as he had a congenial spinal condition that caused muscle wasting in his back legs, but even those became hard for him. I thought it may have been the sudden cold snap, but made a vet appointment anyway. Over the next few days, I noticed his third eyelid starting to become more prominent. I pushed the appointment up as much as I could. He started having no interest in his favorite toys--even his banana--and became lethargic. He was still eating well and still social with me, so I was hoping beyond hope it was just an odd URI, or perhaps arthritis. I had him trained to step on a baby scale on command and saw he was losing some weight, but it was still not super significant weight loss and it wasn't consistent.
The vet appointment came and the vet was as puzzled as I was. The only thing he noticed was that he had a heart murmur--a minor one--when he'd never had one before. He did a full blood panel, but Lou screamed the entire time they were taking blood from him, which was unusual. The results would be ready after the weekend. It was a Friday.
Over the weekend, he declined. He would eat, but not as much, and eventually not at all. I ended up buying a bag of Temptations as a hail Mary and laughed as he actually trotted out as fast as he could to get some. I had some hope. He was also still interested in Churu. I thought, well, maybe he's off his food... although I knew deep down that wasn't it.
On Monday I got the call. His blood work was perfect--except he was severely anemic. I had to make an appointment for an internal ultrasound. He didn't say what he thought it was, but when I asked "do you think it's cancer?" he got very quiet and affirmed that, while he didn't have the expertise to say for certain, he strongly suspected that. I made an appointment for 7 AM the next day.
Lou's condition deteriorated that night. By 2AM he was struggling to breathe. My mom and I decided to take him to the 24-hour vet. They told me that he looked far more anemic than the blood panel signaled, and that he would not be a good candidate for a blood transfusion due to his now severe heart murmur. They could try to find out what was going on, but they couldn't even safely sedate him for any of the tests. I knew he would die of shock if they tried to do anything to him in this state without sedation. My mom asked, point blank, is he dying? The vet quietly said yes. I had prepared over 10k to help find out what was wrong if it was something that could be treated without torturing Lou... but at that moment I knew the right thing to do was to let him go peacefully.
I couldn't hold him. He was in too much pain. I just stroked his little face, gazed into his beautiful eyes, and heard him purr one last time, told him how much I loved him and thanked him for everything, and then I let him go.
That was September 26. I am blessed that my work let me take a whole week off, no questions asked. I miss him so much I can barely breathe sometimes. I wish I'd had more time. The ER vet told me his symptoms were consistent with either large-cell lymphoma or another GI cancer--especially the chronic constipation--or an unrelated tumor somewhere that bled out suddenly. There was nothing I could have done differently, no tests I could have had done. He went from a clean bill of health to dead within a week. My poor baby.
I still have Rory, whose love for Lou only made me love him more. He was such an amazing little brother during that last week. He never took his eyes off of him. He kept vigil at night. He tried to keep him warm and tried to comfort him. I just failed at adopting a second cat for Rory--you can see my post on another forum here--but now, writing all this, I really realize how not ready I am. I would do anything for one more happy day with Lou, one more cuddle session on my bed, one more hour spent with him curled up on my lap watching TV. I knew going into it that our time would be short, and I would do it a thousand times over again despite the pain. He will forever and always be the love of my life.
Thank you for reading about him. I have been locking up my feelings inside to make things easier at home, but this was cathartic to write and I really, really needed it.
I love you, baby boo, and you know that I'll be true to my baby... my baby boo... oh, I love my kitty cat, his name is baby Lou...
That very night, my mom texted me a video of a long, lanky cat, with the caption meet mr. peanut.
I called her immediately to find out what was going on. At the time, my mom lived in my grandma's apartment in a senior citizen-only complex. My late grandfather had been the super for decades, so she knew everyone there. The super at the time was dating my aunt, and they were both huge cat lovers. It sounded like earlier that day, some of the residents sitting outside noticed a very harried woman carrying a tiny cat carrier in a very frantic sort of way. They called her over to ask what was going on, and she told them that the cat--Mr. Peanut--had to go, she and his owner couldn't take care of him anymore, it was an emergency, and that she'd decided the best place for him was the feral colony in the nearby church's graveyard. The residents asked her to give them the cat, knowing the super and my aunt would find him a place to stay, and she did. She told them he was "probably 8 or 9" and said he was being seen at a specific vet downtown.
The super took the cat in and brought him into a recently emptied apartment while they tried to arrange a place for him to go. My aunt often rescued the cats left behind by residents when they passed away or moved to assisted living, so she was a pro at this. Fortunately for her, she did not have to do much work with this one.
"Pick me up early tomorrow," I told my mom. "I'm gonna meet him."
I knew as soon as I met him that he was my cat. He came up to me immediately, with a big, assertive meow, and rubbed his face against my hand like "there you are." I declared my immediate intent to adopt him. I needed no other information. I had to finalize some paperwork for my building, but the next day I came back to take him to the vet and then to my home.
It was then we learned that no, Mr. Peanut had not been to this vet. In fact, his microchip still had his very first rescuer's information on it, and the vet had to clear it with her before releasing him to me. Thankfully, the woman who he was connected to was very happy to hear that one of her very old foster babies was finding a new home, and he came home with me the night of September 2, 2020.
There was nothing peanut-like about him. He was a big cat, nearly 16 inches tall and 24 inches from nose to rump. He had the energy of an old Italian electrician, so I named him Lou. It was short for Llywellyn, the King of Wales (hence his IG: kingofwails) but over the years he was mostly "my Louie Lou."
There was no hiding, no fear. He immediately made himself at home. He slept with me the first night. The vet had estimated that 8-9 was a conservative guess but that he could be older or younger. I didn't care. He had some immediate issues--namely, he didn't seem to be litter box trained. He went, without reservation, in the bathtub. I figured we would work on that. I didn't care. I loved him wholly and entirely.
The next day, his original rescuer called me. She had gotten my number from the vet. She was thrilled to know he was with me. I asked her about the litter box thing, and she told me that, if he had eventually been given to the person she suspected he may have, she didn't like litter boxes and trained all her cats to use the tub. She also told me that she remembered rescuing "Peanut" much longer ago. I didn't care. Whether he was 8 or 11, I was gonna love him and treat him like a cat with all the potential in the world.
And I did. He picked up the litter box very quickly, and only ever used the bathtub when he had medical issues. He did have a lot of medical issues with no identifiable cause. He was chronically constipated and no amount of pumpkin or fiber or Miralax helped. He gained a ton of weight very quickly for no understandable reason, and had to go on a prescription food to lose it. I had spreadsheets of every thing he ate, every time he pooped, every time he threw up. With time and patience, he started feeling better, and... again, I didn't care if he threw up or pooped in the tub or anything. I happily paid thousands of dollars to have his teeth taken care of. I would have done anything for him and I did anything for him I could. He was my baby and my best friend.
It was just the two of us for two years. I worked from home most of the time and he never left my side. He understood me in a way nobody else ever has, and I understood him too. He was a friendly, confident cat who loved everybody he met. He had a special fondness for maintenance staff and repairmen; he forged bonds with the HVAC mechanic over a particularly hot summer when my AC blew out. He could tell when I was about to have a migraine and would usher me into bed and would curl up on my chest, paw on my head, and purr loud and deep until I fell asleep. I would look into his big green eyes and feel like everything was all right in the world, even when it wasn't. As long as he was there, I knew I would be okay.
We moved upstate in early 2022. I got my first tattoo--him, his favorite Yeowww! banana, and my favorite pansies. In August, we welcomed a new friend, Rory. After a slow introduction, they got along wonderfully, and it was so lovely to see that adding a cat brought something new and vibrant into his life. I started thinking he would live longer than I expected, as he seemed so healthy. His bloodwork was always perfect. His weight had gotten down to his goal. He even was starting to have normal BMs, thanks to a different prescription food. And Rory kept him active and playful. I was so happy with my perfect little family.
Then in September 2023--three years after I took him in--something changed. It was very sudden. Overnight, he no longer wanted to play with Rory. He didn't want to jump up on his cat trees. I have always had cat stairs around, as he had a congenial spinal condition that caused muscle wasting in his back legs, but even those became hard for him. I thought it may have been the sudden cold snap, but made a vet appointment anyway. Over the next few days, I noticed his third eyelid starting to become more prominent. I pushed the appointment up as much as I could. He started having no interest in his favorite toys--even his banana--and became lethargic. He was still eating well and still social with me, so I was hoping beyond hope it was just an odd URI, or perhaps arthritis. I had him trained to step on a baby scale on command and saw he was losing some weight, but it was still not super significant weight loss and it wasn't consistent.
The vet appointment came and the vet was as puzzled as I was. The only thing he noticed was that he had a heart murmur--a minor one--when he'd never had one before. He did a full blood panel, but Lou screamed the entire time they were taking blood from him, which was unusual. The results would be ready after the weekend. It was a Friday.
Over the weekend, he declined. He would eat, but not as much, and eventually not at all. I ended up buying a bag of Temptations as a hail Mary and laughed as he actually trotted out as fast as he could to get some. I had some hope. He was also still interested in Churu. I thought, well, maybe he's off his food... although I knew deep down that wasn't it.
On Monday I got the call. His blood work was perfect--except he was severely anemic. I had to make an appointment for an internal ultrasound. He didn't say what he thought it was, but when I asked "do you think it's cancer?" he got very quiet and affirmed that, while he didn't have the expertise to say for certain, he strongly suspected that. I made an appointment for 7 AM the next day.
Lou's condition deteriorated that night. By 2AM he was struggling to breathe. My mom and I decided to take him to the 24-hour vet. They told me that he looked far more anemic than the blood panel signaled, and that he would not be a good candidate for a blood transfusion due to his now severe heart murmur. They could try to find out what was going on, but they couldn't even safely sedate him for any of the tests. I knew he would die of shock if they tried to do anything to him in this state without sedation. My mom asked, point blank, is he dying? The vet quietly said yes. I had prepared over 10k to help find out what was wrong if it was something that could be treated without torturing Lou... but at that moment I knew the right thing to do was to let him go peacefully.
I couldn't hold him. He was in too much pain. I just stroked his little face, gazed into his beautiful eyes, and heard him purr one last time, told him how much I loved him and thanked him for everything, and then I let him go.
That was September 26. I am blessed that my work let me take a whole week off, no questions asked. I miss him so much I can barely breathe sometimes. I wish I'd had more time. The ER vet told me his symptoms were consistent with either large-cell lymphoma or another GI cancer--especially the chronic constipation--or an unrelated tumor somewhere that bled out suddenly. There was nothing I could have done differently, no tests I could have had done. He went from a clean bill of health to dead within a week. My poor baby.
I still have Rory, whose love for Lou only made me love him more. He was such an amazing little brother during that last week. He never took his eyes off of him. He kept vigil at night. He tried to keep him warm and tried to comfort him. I just failed at adopting a second cat for Rory--you can see my post on another forum here--but now, writing all this, I really realize how not ready I am. I would do anything for one more happy day with Lou, one more cuddle session on my bed, one more hour spent with him curled up on my lap watching TV. I knew going into it that our time would be short, and I would do it a thousand times over again despite the pain. He will forever and always be the love of my life.
Thank you for reading about him. I have been locking up my feelings inside to make things easier at home, but this was cathartic to write and I really, really needed it.
I love you, baby boo, and you know that I'll be true to my baby... my baby boo... oh, I love my kitty cat, his name is baby Lou...
