Memorial for an Old Warrior

March 30 2006
The vet came today and put our oldest cat, Beardsley to sleep today. Bil said he didn't give up without a fight. It is so sad. The cancer was so far advanced he had very little face left. He would sit on the street in front of our house. People came by and asked if he was okay because his face looked horrifying. A girl called the animal control officer who came by, and spoke to us, then called the girl back to reassure her. Everyone who saw him worried about him. The kids were afraid of him because of how he looked. He sneezed and when he sneezed, blood came out. They would ask us if he was suffering. I said probably not, because I really didn’t know. He was on painkillers and anti-inflammatory in his food. But he wanted to be friendly and would sit out there in the sun and wait to be petted. The children called him Boyfriend. He used to walk them to the school bus stop and wait for them at the end of the day. He would also sit on Military Highway waiting for someone to give him attention. I used to say he was hitch hiking. He went away several times for weeks and months, even a whole summer, and was once adopted, unknown to us, by a military family. I found out when he came home one day after being gone from us for many months. He wore a leather collar containing a cat license around his neck and waist: he had gotten caught under a fence and his skin was ripped down to the muscles in an 8 inch gaping gash, with the tail ward flap of skin seemingly unattached and floating on his viscera. He looked so uncomfortable and in such pain I didn’t even want to touch him. Rushed to the vet who put him to sleep, then cut off the license tag and sewed him back together. They called the license tag holders, who had left the area, as military families often do, who perhaps wondered what had happened to their wonderful cat, who must have appeared in their lives as a vagrant, apparently homeless and bereft of friends or family. They called him Boots. And indeed, he had boots and when he walked he pranced.

When he showed up at my house in 1993 he would woof if he saw someone out on the deck. He must have grown up around dogs. He would follow me wherever I went when I took walks down the street, as if he was taking me for a walk. He had a soft little mew when he was pleased to see you: a most delicate sound coming out of this large tom cat with muscles of steel and a physique like a prize-fighter’s.

He was our friend for approximately 14 years, and I watched him grow as a happy go lucky adolescent into a crusty warrior in his old age. He did not like sharing me with other cats and wanted to be the only one. This jealous cat wandered off, in his search for another home: a cat-free household where he could be the king. When he came home, unsuccessful, he was known as the King. Or, as Bil called him, he was The Beast. This kingly cat deigned to mew softly when he knew he was the center of your attention. If he had to share the limelight, he was known to whack whatever limb was available, catching your skin a good swipe and sometimes drawing blood with a hiss. Other cats would walk around him or suffer the consequences of not getting out of his way.

Recently he became reticent about asserting himself among my multi-cat household. He would still hiss loudly and swipe a paw, but without the rancor necessary to connect and draw blood from one of us or another cat. After coming home from the hospital getting surgery last winter for his nasal cancer, a neighbor’s dog chased him up a tree. See "Even We caused Suffering".

Up until today, all that was left for him to do was to sit on a lap, or lay in the sun hoping someone would be brave enough to stop and pet him. Bil was the only one now who would spend any time with him. While he was sneezed upon Bil held steady as his last and only friend. I’m ashamed to say I could barely stand to allow him to sit on me as he sneezed and blood spattered everything in the area.

We had the vet come to the house to put him to sleep. He wouldn't allow her to come near him, nor either of us to hold him down. It felt like murder, and we finally told her to go, as there was too much fight in him still and he wanted to live. The nasal cancer took a long time to slow him down until finally we knew it was time. I was not there, as I had to go to work, so Bil was left alone to deal with the experience of putting the poor old warrior to sleep.

You were a great cat, Beardsley and you will be missed!