My Wife's Cat

My wife's cat is dying. He's close to 20 years old and has been part of our lives for a third of our lives. Amazing to think as I look back. It was the year my youngest son graduated that Sylvester first came into our home. He was one of those pets that starts out being the kid's but ends up with the parents taking care of him.
He was a wild child at first. He literally tore down a ficus tree over a period of weeks. Shredded it with his claws. I became the enforcer with the spray bottle of water trying to use aversive therapy to tame him down. I got a lot of exercise chasing him as he darted here and there and finally ended up under a bed or some dark hideaway I couldn't get him out of.
Then when the youngest abandoned him, Sylvester  became Pam's cat. She was the one  person he truly attached himself to. They fell in love with one another and that love has persisted to this day.
There's been many moments when Sylvester and I seemed to be at odds because we both wanted Pam's love and attention. And he made it clear he wanted to be first in line.
He has always loved the summer. Although he's been primarily an indoor cat, he loved going out in the yard we have and strolling through the shaded tree areas, lying low in the grasses and going around the perimeter to make sure his kingdom was safe.
He loved when I started growing tall fountain grasses in the yard. It gave him more cover to be the stalker of wild bugs like moths and flies. He became a practiced expert in capturing these insects. He was a blast to watch as he lowered himself in a crouch ready to pounce. His rear end would wiggle right before he uncoiled to grab a moth out of the summer air.
We thought we were going to lose Sylvester when he was younger. He developed a urinary tract infection that resulted in an expensive operation. He ended up castrated and we changed his diet. That didn't seem to keep him from getting a little chubby.
When he first came into our home we had an old English Cocker, Daisy. She was my love. I had many dogs but Daisy was the greatest and most loving dog I ever had. Her death created a great void in my life. Sylvester loved to cuddle up against Daisy's soft coat while she lay in her favorite living room chair. She tolerated it. In some way I think she felt like the mother she hadn't been allowed to be and he saw her as the replacement for his mother he'd been taken away from when he came into our home.
When Daisy died Sylvester seemed lost and looked for her. He lay in her bed one time and never did it again. Soon he realized she was gone. And he became king of our home. We didn't mind. Well I had no choice and Pam definitely didn't mind.
Up until the time Pam left for a time to be with her niece in China while the niece adopted a child, Sylvester and I had only a live and let live relationship. When Pam was gone it was clear I had to find a way to interact with him to offset the depression he felt with his lover, Pam, gone. So, I decided brushing him might work. Did it ever.
Sylvester is one of those creatures that decides if you do something for him one time that he likes you have to do it the rest of his life. And we have. And he knows exactly what time he's to be brushed. 630 p.m. is his time. He gets feed at 5p, 9pm and 5 a.m.. If we miss those times he lets us know. But we tolerated his nagging and have come to be ruled by his schedule.
Sylvester used to fly up on the window sills or our bed. He loved looking out the windows at all the traffic and other things happening out in the front of our home. He loved sitting on Pam's lap in the evening if she was on the bed reading. He would sit in a Buddha style as she rubbed his head between his ears and talked lovingly to him. Only recently has he been unable to get up on the bed. And jump up on the window sill. He still goes out to his backyard jungle but doesn't stay as long.
This summer I started leaving the front door open so Sylvester can look out like he used to from the window. There's been a few times a neighbor cat showed up and Sylvester would hiss and growl at the intruder. He's also had a few visitors out back he's tolerated only to sit a few feet away and have a stare down.
Since I began brushing him he and I had a more cordial relationship. And he certainly didn't mind me feeding him. But  only in the last few years has he used me as the intermediary to get Pam to do what was on his schedule. If I was lying on the couch and Pam was across the room in her chair, Sylvester would come up to me and meow, stare at me in a questioning way until I would remind Pam what time it was.
Yeah I know all this pet shit is hardly world shattering. Except for us. I look at the tumor on Sylvester's side and know his time is short. But he carries on. He doesn't whine or act angry. He still wants to be brushed even as he has infrequent times his balance is off.
He still eats well but he is losing weight. He's now a bony black cat with some white markings on his paws and chest. But he still purrs lovingly when we brush him. He looks at Pam in adoration and love whenever she gives him attention. I'm jealous that I can't give her as loving looks as he does. But I'm happy to see that bond of love the two have.
I'm not a cat person. I always had dogs growing up. My mom introduced cats into our home when I was a teen but they kept their distance and I kept mine. I've always gave dogs credit for their unconditional love. Never felt cats could duplicate it. But I see Sylvester with Pam and I've changed my mind.
As he has gone down hill, he now lets me rub his head and massage his neck. He purrs and lets me know it's alright. But it isn't alright. I'm already feeling the loss. I hate that I've allowed myself to get this close to this damn cat. But I see him steadfast every day and I realize he has become a role model for me. Yeah, a cat becoming a role model. He is like the "panther kitty" Pam calls him. A black panther. He's had a mindset of being tough minded and demanding his freedom.
But Sylvester is his own lesson in grace. He's a tough guy who still demands we stay on schedule, carry out the important things in life. Like loving an old black cat that somehow managed to grab my heart when so many people could never do so. He's taught me to never give up on a relationship. There may be a time when things change.
I don't cry very often. I'm an old man who's pretty much a crank. I like my privacy. I don't like groups of people too often. Hate all the holiday parties. I have to force myself to even be social. I'm sort of close to my kids and sort of not. I'm not overly affectionate. I blame it on the war and PTSD. Probably is. I got numbed to death and loss in Vietnam. It came home with me.
I'm going to cry when Sylvester passes. I'm almost crying as I write this. He's been part of my life so long I took him for granted until suddenly he pushed himself into my heart. My wife's "panther kitty" has left a large impression on my life. I'm going to miss him something awful. Thanks Silly...thank you so very much.
Addendum:
December 19, 2011
We're going to call the vet today and have him come out to euthanize Silly. Slyvester had a good week of eating wet food for the first time since he was a kitten. But now he's not eating and can barely walk. He hangs his head in his water bowl and uses all the energy he can seem to muster just to drink. Last night I put my face down on the floor next to him to look him in the eye so I could thank him and tell him I loved him. He calmly looked at me with his tiring eyes as if he understood exactly what I said. Pam is terribly upset. Her baby will be gone. I doubt  I can ever fill that void. Strange how relationships evolve. I've come to distance myself from everybody. And I understand that exhausted feeling I see in that old black cat's eyes. I'm tired, also.