Taffy Von Foolishness: 1991-2007

My family's cat passed away this morning.

I was 18 when we got him... he was just old enough to leave his mother. Taf was a typical kitten, always getting into mischief and such. My mom had this grandiose idea early on that we were going to keep him downstairs in the name of preserving the good furniture. There's no door at my parents' house separating upstairs and downstairs, so we had to come up with a plan. There was this 4-foot high sheet of corrigated plastic I had used for a science project in high school, which we hoped could be fashioned into some sort of barrier. But Taf was an athletic little dude and was soon able to leap right over it.

As it turned out, Taffy was never a threat to the furniture. He wouldn't so much as sit on any of the house's couches or chairs, let alone scratch them. He was actually a shockingly well-behaved cat.

Taffy did endure the occasional hardship. Like the time he got bladder stones and could not pee. We had no idea anything was wrong until he started to get sick... the vet told us we got him there just in time.

Then, there was the infamous "hanging" incident. Taf was a house cat, but my parents often let him go outside on a leash. He would sun himself on the deck, or inspect the plant life at the bottom of the stairs and around the backyard. We never tied him up in the front... he really liked to sniff this yew tree next to the front step, so I bought my parents a little one to plant in the back so that he could study it more closely. Anyway, so one day he's tied up on the back deck while my dad is mowing the lawn. Next thing my dad knows, Taffy is hanging by his neck over the side of the deck, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. He apparently wasn't choking or gasping for air... just swinging there, looking pissed off. Well, that's two lives.

I've got all sorts of good memories of the guy, I could go on and on. I think the bladder infection and his obesity (he weighed 20 lbs at one point) coupled with lack of exercise caught up with him. His body wore out sooner than it perhaps should have. By the end he weighed no more than 5 or 6 lbs.

N and I went to visit him last night. The writing was on the wall. My parents always treated him like gold, but despite their best efforts he now appeared emaciated and despondent. He had his face buried in the baseboard heater and didn't look up when we started to pet and brush him (unusual for him). Normally, hairbrush bristles on his face would drive him to a loud purr, but last night... nothing. I picked him up and held him for a minute or so, and he seemed barely alive. He could no longer get up or down the stairs. Not even making it to his litter box was a sure thing anymore. He'd neglected his hygiene quite a bit over the past couple months, but now he seemed unwilling or unable to even clean the wet cat food from around his mouth. N washed his face off with a damp cloth.

We comforted him in every way we could think of before we left. Mom and Don took him to the vet this morning. Ironically, the same doctor who administered his first shot as a kitten provided the one that euthanized him.

Needless to say, I've been quite bummed out about this. I didn't get too choked up though, except for one time: I was with my brothers last night and was trying to lighten up the bleak mood. I said, "Well, maybe tomorrow this time he'll be rubbing up against Hendrix". Slick, dude! {sarcasm}{/sarcasm} Actually, that's pretty much how I consoled myself today... imagining Taffy happily playing with my favorite deceased musicians. The image of him sitting peacefully in Joey Ramone's lap kept coming back to me. That made me feel a little better.

Goodbye, Little Buddy. You're in a better place now, but you'll be missed.