I’m dog- and cat-sitting for my brother this week, while he and his girlfriend travel to San Diego. The cat, Midnight, is sweet but shy and likes to keep her distance from the dog, who’s a little too energetic for her. The dog, Barley, desperately wants to SNIFF HER FACE OH MY GOD WHAT DO HER EYES SMELL LIKE I HAVE TO KNOW RIGHT NOW. So that’s going well.
Did this one while re-watching Captain America: The Winter Soldier. I was thisclose to drawing Steve Rogers instead but then I realized that Natasha Romanoff is far more appealing to stare at for the 3-4 hours it took to draw the picture.
Nineteen-ish years ago, when my family was moving houses, my parents decided that we needed a new cat. My mother and I were both allergic, but we adored cats, so we decided it was worth it. At the farm supply store in town, they were selling the kittens of a feral cat. We bought a quiet, pretty one and named her Snickers.
Of course, she was feral, and we hadn’t realized what that would mean until we got her home. She didn’t like people. She didn’t like being touched. She didn’t purr. She didn’t realize that we were actual living creatures. The bare ankles she attacked in the hallways at night weren’t connected to the same person as the hands that tried to pet her or give her food. Once, I was holding her while feeding her a meatball, and when someone went to pet her, she bit me because she thought we wanted to steal her food. We all ended up having to get tetanus shots after various attacks.
A year or so later, we adopted another kitten, this one a pudgy, friendly cat who loved people and would start purring loudly the moment you entered the room she was in. That cat we named Skittles. The two cats hated each other from the start, and would fight regularly. The only times they would ever tolerate each other’s proximity was when the doorbell would ring and they’d both run to the top of the stairs to stare at the door in wide-eyed unease. They constantly vied for dominance, but Snickers always ended up as the alpha cat.
Still, over the years Snickers learned a lot from Skittles. She learned how to look us in the eye to get our attention and lead us to the door or her empty water dish when she wanted something. She learned how to meow at the window when she wanted to come inside, although it was the tiniest little meow you’d ever heard. She learned how to purr, although it was very hard to tell when she was purring because it was so quiet that you’d need to put your ear up to her head to hear it, and no one ever wanted to get that close to her.
She had a tear duct problem and would cry blood like a Bond villain. One year, we gave her off-brand flea medication and it gave her scar tissue in her other eye that pinned one side of her pupil open, giving her the weird triangular eye that you can see in the picture above.
In her later years, she mellowed. When she was outdoors and we drove in the driveway, she’d come running over to greet us and rub against our legs. She loved my dad because he gave her snacks, so she followed him everywhere in the house and would sleep at the foot of his bed. She only ever purred when my dad was around.
Once, she climbed onto my mother’s lap while my mom was sitting in the sun and settled down for a nap. My mother was frozen in anxiety, too afraid to move in case Snickers decided to attack. Eventually we lured Snickers away with some turkey. It was the only time she ever did it.
Eventually she even decided she liked getting her head scratched. If you held out your hand to her, she’d sniff it carefully, then duck her head under your hand to give you the hint.
In the last year or two, she started to show her age. She had arthritis in her tail and could no longer sit. The process of going from standing to laying down was a slow, painful maneuver that took over five minutes. She could no longer groom herself, and hated being brushed, so her fur got matted and tangled. She developed kitty dementia and forgot where her water dish or food bowls were, and sometimes got lost outside and needed to be guided home. She forgot how to use a litter box. She had terrible balance and weak hind legs and would fall over at the slightest breeze.
Wednesday, she started having trouble eating. We could have had the vet examine her and see what was wrong, but it would stress her out too much and the odds were good that there was nothing we could do to improve her quality of life. We brought her to the vet last night and got a chance to say goodbye to her before she was put to sleep.
She was a difficult cat to love, but I wouldn’t trade her for the world. Though it was hard to tell at times, I think she had a happy life. It was certainly a long one. She was around for more than half my life, and I honestly can’t imagine this house without her. I’ll miss her.
Good night, kitty. I love you.
Spent the other night watching Guardians of the Galaxy and sketching from a screenshot. Part of my resolution to do more art this year.