On the loss of Shadow, my beloved man-cat

He came to us on a cold, rainy late October-early November evening. He left on a cold November afternoon, full of years but no longer able to function, his own body betraying him, destroying his red blood cells from within. He came as he left: on his own terms.

November 6, my beloved man-cat Shadow (his picture is in the upper corner of this blog) slipped away while I sat in DFW, unable to be there. He went quickly, surrounded by Deena and her mom, his body failing him. They were preparing the shots that would ease his pain when he simply left this life. They injected him anyway, but it was no longer needed. I guess he’d had enough of needles, thank you.

He was the giver of kitty-kisses, the keeper of secrets, a nibbler of treats both forbidden and allowed. He loved carbs, oddly enough, and earned the nickname The Carb King. (He also liked yogurt, and would stick his nose way into a cup of the stuff to get at it.)  He was a man’s cat. He preferred men’s voices singing to women’s, and would come sit and listen when It’s About Time met at the apartment to rehearse. He was a smart cat, letting Cali do the dirty work of waking one of us up to feed them. 

Mostly he was my cat. Oh, he was nice to Deena-especially when she fed him-but I was the one he liked and made little secret of it. He knew when I was ill. When I was recovering from surgery a few years back, he didn’t go far. In winter, he’d curl up at our feet when we slept, knowing the electric blankets would be on.

He came to us a kitten, with bat-wing ears and monster paws, wanting to be with people when I was ministering at the church on Boonville, IN. It was raining, we lived on a busy state highway that ran through town, and his fur at that time was about the color of wet concrete. I told Deena to do something with him, before the senior pastor called Animal Control-or worse, the cute little bugger got hit. Since the garage was porous like a Swiss cheese, she put him in the basement.

We tried to find the owner but to no avail. He became king of his domain shortly thereafter, often watching anime with me after working hours. We left for Christmas that year, and on our return this kitten was suddenly a man-cat. We fixed that in short order. When we moved to Evansville, he cried like a baby, and noshed on my fingertips to the point where I couldn’t carry anything for several hours afterward.

He never was a lap cat, preferring to rub up against my legs while I worked on stuff. He once ate a fairly large amount of processed cheese stuff; we almost lost him then. We managed to get him stabilized, and he made the trip with us to Oregon, and when we moved into the apartment, joined his “sister” Cali. 

He mellowed a little with age, never totally liking when people came stomping up the stairs. Often, when I came in from wherever, he’d been in the cat-tree or on his pillow on the edge of the couch looking at me as if to say “Where you been?”


His purr-when he chose to do so-was a big, rumbly thing. And when I did the laundry, he'd come up on the bed and help press off something warm by laying on it.   

A little more than a year ago, he became diabetic, and we knew we were now on borrowed time with him. He was a good sport with his insulin shots, and still loved to romp and play like all good kitties do. He was active even right before I left, playing with a cat toy of some sort.

Even so, he’d been sleeping more, even by cat standards. Oh, he’d come in at four PM or so and love on me, and was a little friendlier than usual, even letting me drag him to the vet for his checkup. When I left, he sat next to my suitcase, watching me as I packed. Before I left, I got to pet him, told him goodbye, and to be a good boy-and that I’d be home soon. 

I didn’t know that would be the last time he’d hear those words from me. 

As I wrote most of this, I was still waiting for my flight. Still at DFW, tears in my eyes. Deena called, said he was anemic...badly anemic. I told her to have the emergency vet do what they could.

Not long after, the vet called me and told me he was going fast. I had them put Deena on, told her to take a few last pictures, tell him that Daddy-cat loved him...and then end his misery, put his body on ice, and I’d see the body when I get home. I called her from SFO, and she gave me the news he departed on his own terms. 

But I know that somewhere over the Rainbow Bridge, in a golden field with trees to climb, sits the spirit of my boy, dozing in the sun, chasing fat field mice, doing all the things that good kitties love to do, waiting for a voice...my voice, calling to him, telling him it’s time to come Home. 

Until then...I’m gonna miss my little man.

Rest in peace, buddy.