vampyrichamster (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vampyrichamster) wrote2022-01-27 07:58 pm
vampyrichamster) wrote2022-01-27 07:58 pm
The biggest toes, and the biggest ears
Eleven years ago, our first Christmas Eve in our very own apartment, we brought home a small mackerel tabby whose last owner called Spiky. He was the weirdest looking cat in the adoption gallery at the SPCA. He had a most distinct snout and the hugest feets, capped by the biggest toes. His legs were too long for his body. When he sat straight up, he exuded a noble and princely bearing. But when we went to visit his room, he rolled all over my shoes and liked belly rubs. There's no way we were calling our cat Spiky. Five minutes after bringing him home, I thought, maybe "Durian? Dorian?" (No way would Seth allow me to call our cat Durian. At any rate, he was too dashing a creature for it.)
I had to stay up for a hellish transcription job, so all night I worked in the study while a little grey cat wandered around telling me about my drapes. By the second day home with us, it was clear we couldn't keep his curiosity trapped in the study, even with a very betrayed (and cowardly) hovercat letting us know she was not having this Thing steal our love for her.
We also quickly learned we couldn't keep his curiosity trapped in the house either, once he realised there was a yard outside. When he would come in during the afternoon, he always smelled warm, like sunlight. I never knew sunlight had a smell until I met Dorian. He was always filled with mischief, never cruel. Always opinionated and spoke such a weird form of cat pirate that I wasn't sure if Sif and he spoke the same language. Just incredibly smart and too curious for his own good. We got an adolescent cat and he grew up into an adult cat, but he never grew into his body. His legs were always too long, his feet were big and he always had giant toes and ears I found utterly charming. He loved my cooking, kneading my arms to shreds and napping on my hand. He understood holding paws was a source of comfort, so over the years, we held paws a lot. (I sometimes like to think there's a tribe of cats like Dorian out there whose entire communication comprised "ngyaarrr" and "ngang!" I used to ask him, "How is this remotely a cat noise?")
When I said kissing my cat on the head and playing with the biggest toes were some of my greatest pleasures in life, I meant it every time. I remember how he liked to protect me from other cats—what if I tried to get new cat friends? Although I hadn't had to do this in about two or three years, whenever I went outside, he would still go up to my next door neighbour's back porch and sit on her door mat, just in case I went over to look after her cat while she was away.
There was the Christmas where Seth was away and I read the whole collection of Tokyo Ghoul that he gave me, shivering under a blanket with Dorian on top. The house was bitterly cold without Seth to add his warmth. Although ostensibly not a Bed Cat, he would come sleep on my hand every night Seth wasn't there so I would fall asleep under him and wake up when he did. We played video games together, watched crime documentaries together and ate pretty much every meal together. Dorian somehow figured that anything I ate was worth trying once. There was every chance it was worth eating every time after that.
Seth and I have realised that during his last few days with us, he wanted us to know that he loved us very much, even as we wanted him to know he was loved just as hard. We camped out on our futon couch in the living room because he would only sit on us if we lay down on that couch, figuring if we were both there, he could then come sleep with us. We were right. Every opportunity we had, at least one person had Dorian napping cutely on them while we ensured our cat was loved and warm. I would wake up every one of those days with a liquid cat soldering me to the bed. I could engulf him and kiss him on the head first thing and it really was one of my greatest pleasures in life. I remember the last time I did that on Wednesday, the last morning he was fine. He slept over my knees the entire time I edited a story to read that night. When I had to go to my desk and settle some work, he followed me to loaf by my monitor, as he likes to do. He licked the pizza grease off my pizza plate. He got to sit outside in the sun for a bit during the afternoon.
Throughout my reading that evening I was extremely nervous I was just boring everyone with my story about a socially anxious person in a supermarket. There were two of us reading that night online and I was the second one to go. People were deathly still while I read. All I wanted to do was finish my story and go back to the couch with two creatures I loved most on this Earth.
Dorian was curled up with his head on Seth's knee when I did return. He was breathing a little fast, he had been lately. Our doctor said to watch for shallow breathing and bring him if that happened, so I planned to call her the next day. I noticed he hadn't touched the tuna mixed with his steroids, his second dose since the day before. I airlifted him to the dining table to at least nibble some of it. We ordered fried chicken for dinner. Dorian came back to the couch and resumed his nap until the food arrived. Throughout my dinner, he stared at me from across my plate until I gave him small pieces of chicken meat. He purred so I knew this was the correct thing to do. He looked very disappointed in me when I put the chicken away. At sleeping time, he lay on Seth's lap. I reached out to hold his paw and rub his cheek, which he likes. He promptly leaned into my hand to let me know I was now his pillow, then put his other front paw on top of my palm. That lasted maybe five minutes. He was very fidgety. Seth kept waking up because he thought Dorian was wheezing.
I know at some point Dorian got up to use the bathroom and began wheezing loud enough Seth bade me get out of bed so we could both check Dorian. He was cowering against the wall of the hallway, breathing heavily. I went over to pet him, but there was nothing I could do. I told Seth we would take him to the vet when the SPCA Hospital opened first thing the next morning. We went back to bed. I listened to Dorian follow his routine: jump onto the TV cabinet, run across to the kitchen, bounce onto the dining table and eat his food. I expected he would join us back in bed after that. The next thing I remember waking to was Seth telling me Dorian was choking in the hallway. He was crouched against our bathroom door, struggling to breathe and seemingly struggling to vomit up something. We carried him to the emergency vet centre about five blocks away. The last time I saw Dorian looking straight at me was through the mesh of his carrier in the dark. He was anxious.
COVID protocols are such no one is allowed in the emergency centre except the pet. I watched them carry away my cat in the cold and all I wanted to do was somehow hug him and keep him warm and loved. They aspirated his lungs, which had fluid, and gave him oxygen. We were told to go home and they would call us with an update. Neither of us slept. The update was that he had a heart attack. Prednisone, the steroids, can aggravate an existing heart condition. I read that on the user sheet before I gave it to him. He had a heart condition no one knew about. Taken together with the lymphoma, the vet who called us suggested his quality of life was deteriorating enough it was time to let him go. I was terrified I caused that heart attack. The vet thinks with only two doses so far and his heart being how it was, there was likely chronicity that had been going on for a long time and it wasn't a short term event. I'm still terrified I caused that heart attack. We rushed to the ER to say goodbye. The moment they took him out of the oxygen tent he was struggling to breathe. We hugged him and told him we loved him, and thanked him for being our cat. Somewhere through the haze of lights, strange noises and people, I hope he heard us and felt us there. I don't want my cat to have died thinking he was abandoned. I stood in a side room after that rubbing his ears until the warmth in them faded—his ears were always the warmest, velvetiest parts of his body. I told him I loved his giant toes. And I thanked him over and over for being my cat.
We thought we had some months, maybe a year. It simply feels like an important part of my life vanished. I keep thinking that he's missing, not dead. Every time I hear a particular rustle, I look around, expecting to see him staring back on the dining table. A warmth at my foot feels like he's nearby. We remind each other when the immense grief collapses us that we loved Dorian and he loved us. He brought a lot of joy into our lives and we tried our best to give him the best life he could have. When I bring any creature home, that's really all I expect from them: that they are loved. Anything I get back is new and wonderful. For eleven years, I woke up every day knowing I had at least one new and wonderful thing to engulf and kiss on the head.
I had to stay up for a hellish transcription job, so all night I worked in the study while a little grey cat wandered around telling me about my drapes. By the second day home with us, it was clear we couldn't keep his curiosity trapped in the study, even with a very betrayed (and cowardly) hovercat letting us know she was not having this Thing steal our love for her.
We also quickly learned we couldn't keep his curiosity trapped in the house either, once he realised there was a yard outside. When he would come in during the afternoon, he always smelled warm, like sunlight. I never knew sunlight had a smell until I met Dorian. He was always filled with mischief, never cruel. Always opinionated and spoke such a weird form of cat pirate that I wasn't sure if Sif and he spoke the same language. Just incredibly smart and too curious for his own good. We got an adolescent cat and he grew up into an adult cat, but he never grew into his body. His legs were always too long, his feet were big and he always had giant toes and ears I found utterly charming. He loved my cooking, kneading my arms to shreds and napping on my hand. He understood holding paws was a source of comfort, so over the years, we held paws a lot. (I sometimes like to think there's a tribe of cats like Dorian out there whose entire communication comprised "ngyaarrr" and "ngang!" I used to ask him, "How is this remotely a cat noise?")
When I said kissing my cat on the head and playing with the biggest toes were some of my greatest pleasures in life, I meant it every time. I remember how he liked to protect me from other cats—what if I tried to get new cat friends? Although I hadn't had to do this in about two or three years, whenever I went outside, he would still go up to my next door neighbour's back porch and sit on her door mat, just in case I went over to look after her cat while she was away.
There was the Christmas where Seth was away and I read the whole collection of Tokyo Ghoul that he gave me, shivering under a blanket with Dorian on top. The house was bitterly cold without Seth to add his warmth. Although ostensibly not a Bed Cat, he would come sleep on my hand every night Seth wasn't there so I would fall asleep under him and wake up when he did. We played video games together, watched crime documentaries together and ate pretty much every meal together. Dorian somehow figured that anything I ate was worth trying once. There was every chance it was worth eating every time after that.
Seth and I have realised that during his last few days with us, he wanted us to know that he loved us very much, even as we wanted him to know he was loved just as hard. We camped out on our futon couch in the living room because he would only sit on us if we lay down on that couch, figuring if we were both there, he could then come sleep with us. We were right. Every opportunity we had, at least one person had Dorian napping cutely on them while we ensured our cat was loved and warm. I would wake up every one of those days with a liquid cat soldering me to the bed. I could engulf him and kiss him on the head first thing and it really was one of my greatest pleasures in life. I remember the last time I did that on Wednesday, the last morning he was fine. He slept over my knees the entire time I edited a story to read that night. When I had to go to my desk and settle some work, he followed me to loaf by my monitor, as he likes to do. He licked the pizza grease off my pizza plate. He got to sit outside in the sun for a bit during the afternoon.
Throughout my reading that evening I was extremely nervous I was just boring everyone with my story about a socially anxious person in a supermarket. There were two of us reading that night online and I was the second one to go. People were deathly still while I read. All I wanted to do was finish my story and go back to the couch with two creatures I loved most on this Earth.
Dorian was curled up with his head on Seth's knee when I did return. He was breathing a little fast, he had been lately. Our doctor said to watch for shallow breathing and bring him if that happened, so I planned to call her the next day. I noticed he hadn't touched the tuna mixed with his steroids, his second dose since the day before. I airlifted him to the dining table to at least nibble some of it. We ordered fried chicken for dinner. Dorian came back to the couch and resumed his nap until the food arrived. Throughout my dinner, he stared at me from across my plate until I gave him small pieces of chicken meat. He purred so I knew this was the correct thing to do. He looked very disappointed in me when I put the chicken away. At sleeping time, he lay on Seth's lap. I reached out to hold his paw and rub his cheek, which he likes. He promptly leaned into my hand to let me know I was now his pillow, then put his other front paw on top of my palm. That lasted maybe five minutes. He was very fidgety. Seth kept waking up because he thought Dorian was wheezing.
I know at some point Dorian got up to use the bathroom and began wheezing loud enough Seth bade me get out of bed so we could both check Dorian. He was cowering against the wall of the hallway, breathing heavily. I went over to pet him, but there was nothing I could do. I told Seth we would take him to the vet when the SPCA Hospital opened first thing the next morning. We went back to bed. I listened to Dorian follow his routine: jump onto the TV cabinet, run across to the kitchen, bounce onto the dining table and eat his food. I expected he would join us back in bed after that. The next thing I remember waking to was Seth telling me Dorian was choking in the hallway. He was crouched against our bathroom door, struggling to breathe and seemingly struggling to vomit up something. We carried him to the emergency vet centre about five blocks away. The last time I saw Dorian looking straight at me was through the mesh of his carrier in the dark. He was anxious.
COVID protocols are such no one is allowed in the emergency centre except the pet. I watched them carry away my cat in the cold and all I wanted to do was somehow hug him and keep him warm and loved. They aspirated his lungs, which had fluid, and gave him oxygen. We were told to go home and they would call us with an update. Neither of us slept. The update was that he had a heart attack. Prednisone, the steroids, can aggravate an existing heart condition. I read that on the user sheet before I gave it to him. He had a heart condition no one knew about. Taken together with the lymphoma, the vet who called us suggested his quality of life was deteriorating enough it was time to let him go. I was terrified I caused that heart attack. The vet thinks with only two doses so far and his heart being how it was, there was likely chronicity that had been going on for a long time and it wasn't a short term event. I'm still terrified I caused that heart attack. We rushed to the ER to say goodbye. The moment they took him out of the oxygen tent he was struggling to breathe. We hugged him and told him we loved him, and thanked him for being our cat. Somewhere through the haze of lights, strange noises and people, I hope he heard us and felt us there. I don't want my cat to have died thinking he was abandoned. I stood in a side room after that rubbing his ears until the warmth in them faded—his ears were always the warmest, velvetiest parts of his body. I told him I loved his giant toes. And I thanked him over and over for being my cat.
We thought we had some months, maybe a year. It simply feels like an important part of my life vanished. I keep thinking that he's missing, not dead. Every time I hear a particular rustle, I look around, expecting to see him staring back on the dining table. A warmth at my foot feels like he's nearby. We remind each other when the immense grief collapses us that we loved Dorian and he loved us. He brought a lot of joy into our lives and we tried our best to give him the best life he could have. When I bring any creature home, that's really all I expect from them: that they are loved. Anything I get back is new and wonderful. For eleven years, I woke up every day knowing I had at least one new and wonderful thing to engulf and kiss on the head.