In Memoriam: Spot (1992-2009)
I was working nights near Los Angeles in 1992, financing my post-baccalaureate studies doing clerical work at the Dreyer’s Ice Cream plant in Commerce. It was a temp job, but a convenient gig at the time, giving me an opportunity to continue with school full time during the day while fulfilling my long-standing dream of returning to live in California, where I had lived briefly as a teenager. I would drive to the factory late in the evening, work through the night, and return to my place most mornings just before sunrise.
One morning, as I approached the stairs to my second floor apartment, I saw an orange flash as something ran across my path. Always a sucker for strays, I went to investigate. Hiding in the bushes, and staying carefully out of reach, was a small orange cat. For at least half an hour, I coaxed, and cajoled, and here-kitty-kittied in an attempt to make friends. It was slow going, but a can of cat food finally sealed the deal, and the cat let me close enough to pet him.
As it happened, I already had a cat, and my fondness for animals aside, I was not sure I could afford to take on a second one. I couldn’t bring myself to leave the cat to his own devices, however, so I compromised: I put bowls with food and water outside the door to my apartment, and went about my business. That’s how it always begins, of course. For a week, I would come home from work, and without fail, there would be the kitten, rushing out of the bushes, shyness forgotten, to rub up against my legs, and purr, and of course, insist that the bowls be refilled. After a week or so, I finally gave in, and took him inside to join the family.
Spot was an unfailingly gentle cat, always good-natured, and in many ways more like the stereotype of a dog than a cat. He was never aloof with me, always eager for attention, and always happy for people food. (Cheese slices and fast food chicken were among his favorite things in life.) Once we got past that first meeting, he was unwaveringly trusting of me, but he remained timid around other for many years, rushing to hide in the cupboards under the bathroom sink at the first hint of a knock at the door. He endured many moves, and many business trips, and was always waiting just inside the door when I returned home, a constant companion. He loved being held and petted, and he would refuse to be ignored when he had decided it was time for attention. He was not above clambering over my keyboard or sitting on my mouse if that’s what it took to distract me from my work. On cold nights, he would squeeze his way under the comforter on my bed and sleep underneath, between my feet. Once I moved to Houston, I had house guests more frequently, and in time, he became more accepting of company, coming out to say hello when my nieces and nephew would visit.
Three and a half years ago, Spot fell ill, and a trip to the vet determined he had become diabetic. Diabetes can be a treatable condition in cats, and with the help of my family, we put him on daily insulin and nursed him back to relative health. After six months or so, the diabetes vanished, and after month of testing, his blood sugar remained within the normal range for cats. The worst, we hoped, was over. As the months passed, Spot failed to gain his weight back, and struggled with digestive problems that my vet was never able to satisfactorily treat. But his weight was stable, and I was happy that he remained a happy little cat.
Recently, we noticed he was losing weight again, and a couple of weeks ago, it became evident that his health was deteriorating once more. He stopped appearing at the door when I arrived home, and he began to struggle when trying to climb into a chair or onto the bed. I finally took him to an urgent care clinic for some fluids, and took him to the vet for further diagnosis. After several office visits and a trip to a specialist, I finally had a diagnosis. Spot had developed lymphosarcoma, a cancer of the lymphatic system. With his health so compromised, chemotherapy was not an option, and even if it had been, it would be expected to extend his life by only weeks. After so many years, our travels together had finally come to an end. Spot drew his last breath late this afternoon.
Life is full of chance encounters large and small, and you never know what may come of them. I know there are many people who hold their pets at a certain emotional distance, but I have never been one of those people. Spot and I were both very lucky on that morning long ago; he enriched my life greatly over the years, and I did my best to return the favor. Seventeen years is a pretty good run for a cat, but I’d give a lot to spend a few more with him around. I miss him terribly, even as I am grateful for the time we had.
So long, kitty.
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