To my first cat, who drove me up a wall
In loving memory of Ninja.
When I woke up this morning, I didn't expect to say goodbye to the first cat I ever took in as an adult, and yet, it's 2:19pm and here we are. My house is a little bit lonelier and smaller. Our eyes are wet. Our other pets don't really understand why we're a little sad and grumpy.
If you get me talking about my cats, I almost always bring up Ninja's origin story. It was November, I was in my Fairborn, Ohio apartment minding my own young grad-student business. I don't remember *why* I went outside - probably to put some trash in a dumpster - but I remember *what* I saw outside - a little orange cat.
Now this was the ancient times, the stuff of old. The "cat distribution system" didn't yet have a name. But he was a gregarious little thing, and he looked hungry, so I went back into my apartment to get a can of tuna. When I went back outside with this can of tuna, clicking my tongue like a fool, I could not find this cat anywhere. I looked under cars, behind bushes, but didn't see him. Defeated, I went back inside, and I found that sneaky little orange demon right in my kitchen, waiting for me, as if he had always been there.
I'd like to say "and he never went outside again" but that is simply not true. There was the time I had to chase him around a pine tree because he slipped out the door. The time he almost got loose at his first vet appointment. The time he got loose at my parents' house and the neighbor brought him back two days later. The time I had to climb up on a ladder with a garbage can in my hand because he had somehow climbed a light pole. The time my future-husband Brad found him about 15 houses away from ours, meowing pathetically under a truck. After he recognized where he was, he leapt out of Brad's arms and trotted to the front door. Oh, and let's not forget the time he escaped a HOTEL ROOM during one of our cross country travels. Found him trotting along the upstairs hotel walkway like he was a damn employee.
In his younger years, his hobbies were mostly just giving us heart attacks by escaping, occupying any box-shaped space he could fit in, peeing in the litter box AS I was cleaning it, and also peeing exclusively on bathroom rugs. Oh, and he also liked hoodies. Let me be specific: he liked attempting to hump my arm whenever I had a hoodie on. He would mount my arm, bite my wrist, and do the thing. I let him do it like… once a year. It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out what he was doing.
I thought getting him a friend would make him less of a jerk, so we brought Miss Kitty into the family. Spoiler alert: it didn't. The first time he was sick, I brought him into the vet and listed his symptoms as, “Well he’s just kinda sitting there purring, and he’s not chasing the other cat or causing trouble, so I think he’s sick?” - and yes, he had a little fever from some bug he picked up.
As he aged, and mellowed out a little bit, there was another side of him. Demanding headbutts and cuddles. Just last week, he pawed at my arm until I picked him up and put him on my lap. He would come sprinting to the sound of the whipped cream can, and the crinkly noises of cheese, and definitely to the sound of the Temptations treats. He loved getting into his harness and walking out in the sun, rolling around on the sidewalk, eating grass, and exploring. He had the funkiest little purr.
The first time he saw kittens that we had brought into the house, he hissed at them. But eventually, he became their substitute dad. Frankly, Ninja is the reason we have rescued, adopted, vetted, TNR'd, and assisted with street cats everywhere that we have lived. He's the one that inspired me, specifically, to take care of those who can't take care of themselves.
For the past few days, his appetite was off. Last night, we were hopeful: he had his whipped cream and his dinner and his treats. Unfortunately, this morning, it caught up with him and he went into respiratory distress. We were on our way to the e-vet shortly after and we discovered a cat parent's worst nightmare. He had fluid in his chest cavity. At fifteen, this was either heart failure or cancer, and neither had a great prognosis if we pursued treatment. Sticking a needle in to drain the fluid would buy hours or days, maybe weeks - if he survived being sedated with breathing problems. So, we did the right thing.
My Ninja loved walking on treadmills, sticking his head into and knocking over water glasses, wiping his paws before he drank, and using the single orange-cat-shared-brain-cell for shenanigans. He was so very, very loved. There was no box untouched, no stray purse or bag left uninspected, no puppy or kitten left un-harassed. No living being entered this house without his soft green eyes on them. And not a single cat in this house will ever fill his shoes.
But we see him in them. I see him in the lives we've touched and saved. I see him in the soft blankets that he loved, the shelf next to me he loved to perch on. Like some of the others we've lost, he circuited the entire country - from Ohio, to California, to North Carolina, and nearly ten years later, back home to the place where he was born. He was a good boy, and we did our best for him. Sometimes, that's all we can ask for.
He was likely born in April 2010, but he came into my life November 17, 2010. It was a good fifteen-ish years. I hope he felt the same.
You were very loved
Rest in peace sweet Ninja