When we moved here in 1997 we were soon visited frequently by a polydactyl black cat with beautiful green eyes. I knew she probably belonged to someone in the neighbourhood but I gave her the name ‘Big Thumbs.’ She would sprawl somewhere and extend her arm out with her paw turned upward as if to show off her anomaly.
Other cats were prone to hanging round here as well. Usually they were males. One was a big grey boy, perhaps Maine Coon, and the other was a large ginger. The ginger didn’t linger much and I only saw him a few times. One of those times I caught him copulating with Big Thumbs. I never named him because he was not a regular visitor, but the big grey cat I called ‘Tiger’ which I will freely admit is not terribly original.
Sometime later, in 1998 or early 1999 she gave birth to some kittens somewhere in the area. Once the kittens were large enough to be handed off she brought them here to our patio. Big Thumbs was a wise girl because she apparently sensed they would have a safe and loving home with us.
One of the earliest photos (from a film camera, not digital!) I have is of her on the patio with three kittens all nursing while Big Thumbs was in her classic pose with paw extended out. The kittens were as large as she was. One female was a classic tortie and the other two were black.
We took Big Thumbs to the vet to have her spayed as a precaution against this incident repeating itself. Some time after that Big Thumbs disappeared and it happened to coincide with some neighbours on the next street moving elsewhere.
One evening Sheldon came into the house holding the tortie girl. She was an indoor cat for the rest of her life. The two black cats remained outside as patio cats, along with Tiger who never seemed to wander far. I decided to name her Sissy because she also was a polydactyl. Sissy Hankshaw was the big-thumbed character in ‘Even Cowgirls Get the Blues.’
‘The whole idea of paying for a ride just makes my thumbs hurt.’— Sissy Hankshaw
In addition to being polydactyl she had another weird quirk. One of her extra claws would grow in a circle and form a round disk. Once during a vet visit the doctor, much to my dismay, clipped one off. I was delighted later to see it grow back.
When Sissy was introduced into the house we only had one other cat. Samantha was our mixed Siamese we brought here from California. They bonded well.
In the feline world I guess the word spread that our house was a sanctuary for cats. Soon, another large female appeared on the front porch. This was probably in 2000. She seemed older. We fed her and provided water for a year while she endured the Texas summers and the handful of cold mornings that pass for winter in these parts.
One day I opened the front door and invited her to come inside. She walked in like she had always belonged here and made herself at home. I named her Jezebel.
The three cats all bonded quite well. One of my favourite photos is of the three of them stretched across my bed sleeping, and Sissy was resting against Samantha.
I believe it was in 2003 when Jezebel was hit with liver failure. It was shocking to me because it happened immediately. She had been sitting in the kitchen window and then jumped down to the floor. I later found her under my bed seeking seclusion. This was odd for her but I assumed she must not be feeling well. This continued for another day or two and I was getting concerned.
Finally I reached under there to drag her out and it was clear she was ill. I placed her in a corner of the room so I could monitor her. It was a Sunday before the Memorial Day holiday.
Monday morning was horrendous. She had begin to secrete a nasty brown fluid from her mouth. I placed her in a box and called the emergency vet service since it was a holiday. I took her in and they recommended she be put to sleep immediately due to her condition.
This was my first experience ever with a cat euthanasia and I did not handle it well. I was not present when they injected her in the next room. But when the doctor came in to announce the deed was done I broke down sobbing on the floor. Uncontrollable sobbing.
Life continued with Sissy and Samantha until 2005 when another ginger male appeared in the garage. He was young, maybe a year old, but very friendly and immediately declared the patio as his home. He also had a toe injury — a swollen red bulb. I wasn’t sure if it was a birth defect, a growth of some kind, or another injury. It never seemed to heal.
On New Year’s Eve if I recall correctly, Sheldon brought the ginger boy into the house. (Note: these are my memories and I believe them to be accurate. However, I have mentioned these incidents to Sheldon and he denies involvement in introducing either Sissy or the ginger boy into the house, but I digress.)
The boy spent the night in my bedroom and the next morning there were bloody footprints all over the bed and bathroom floor. It was obvious that toe injury needed medical help.
It was actually a broken toe and infected. The doctor removed the toe and placed a purple sock bandage on the foot. So the first couple of weeks with him were quite amusing with him walking around in his purple sock.
In retrospect he was one of the more unruly kitties we ever had. Maybe it’s just a boy thing. He was prone to shitting behind the television, and sometimes pissing. Soon thereafter I changed his name from Big Red to Tater Tot because that’s what his turds looked like: a small cluster of tots.
Sheldon hated the connection and continued to refer to him as Red rather than Tater Tot.
In 2007 we were in the midst of some home makeovers thanks to a heavy rain that resulted in some flooding in the house. Carpets were being ripped up and replaced, rooms painted, and we were replacing overhead lighting in the kitchen. And Samantha was dying.
Samantha was the only indoor cat I’ve ever had who managed to die on her own, at home, without assistance. And I thank her for that. She crawled behind the washing machine and was draped over the power cord when I found her the next morning. Her face was peering out between the washer and the wall, eyes open, but lifeless.
Sissy took this very badly. I have never witnessed a cat in mourning or grieving. For a few days she would sit in the litter box that Samantha used. She would just sit there with the only remaining connection she had to Samantha.
As I reflect back on this time it is quite hard to believe we only had Tater Tot and Sissy in the house. However, we were still caring for Tiger outside, along with Sweet Pea, one of Sissy’s brothers. The other, Coal Pot, had disappeared at some point and we never saw him again.
Things were OK for awhile. Sissy and Tater Tot coexisted but without much in the way of bonding. I had spotted a beautiful Siamese girl up for adoption in March, 2011 at a pet store. I brought home a flyer with her photo on it and it sat on our kitchen table a few months. I desperately wanted that girl and thought Sissy would enjoy having another Siamese since she was so fond of Samantha. Silly me. That’s not how it works but I didn’t know.
Finally, over the protestations of Sheldon, we adopted her in July 2011. The introduction went fine despite our fears that there would be personality clashes between Tater Tot and Jessie Lee, the new arrival. On the contrary, those two bonded quite well and Sissy was unfortunately the odd one.
Sissy was always the odd one, a bit reserved, very shy around people, and not at all forceful, aggressive, or defensive. Over time it became more of a problem as Tater Tot assumed the role of King Tot and began tormenting Sissy, and particularly when she would use the litter box. Time after time she would be trying to pee and Tater Tot would be creeping up as if he were going to attack. Sissy would flee the box in a panic with cat litter flying from her feet.
The last straw for me happened one day when Sissy needed to use the box. Tot gave her a scare and she jumped up into a chair before completing her needs. The Tot stood there staring at her and suddenly I heard the sound of pee dripping from the chair to the floor.
From that moment on, Sissy resided in my bedroom with the door closed. Based on a review of photos I had taken, I think that was probably in 2012. She was completely relaxed and content there, safe with her daddy at night.
This is how life continued. Occasionally, I would leave the bedroom door open by accident, and if the Tot managed to get back there we would hear a screech coming from Sissy. Even Jessie Lee enjoyed an occasional Sissy chase if she had the opportunity. So I tried to keep the door closed at all times, especially if we were both going to be out of the house.
What’s funny is that Sissy was so skittish of anything that moves and yet I would occasionally allow Sweet Pea to come wander in the house at night for a few minutes. There were no issues with either Tater Tot or Jessie Lee, oddly enough. But I would sometimes take him to my bedroom and place him on the bed with Sissy and she wouldn’t even flinch. I have no idea if she sensed the connection as his brother or what.
Soon the outside cat situation was also going through changes. Sweet Pea also got the liver failure and had to be put down. Tiger was in failing health, had lost most of his hearing, and his fur developed massive clumps of matted hair. And yet that boy kept going, barely able to walk.
One day I was sitting on the patio and he was in the garage looking out from an open door. We were looking at each other, directly in the eyes. He turned and wobbled away and I never saw him again. It was a most perplexing thing because he was so physically weak I do not see how he could have gone very far. I never found his body. The three indoor cats became our only cats.
Those six years with Sissy in my bedroom were an amazing time of bonding for us. I realised at some point that she could detect my brain wave patterns, or maybe it was my breathing patterns. She sensed with incredible accuracy exactly when I was either drifting into sleep or waking from it, and often when she was in her own bed in the corner next to the human bed where she couldn’t even see me. I would open my eyes to see her sitting near the door, ready to greet me, and more importantly to receive the food I would soon bring.
As she was getting older her fur starting to get matted and she had exactly the same problems that Tiger had with his fur, in exactly the same places. At that point it suddenly hit me that she probably had two daddies: Tiger, and that unnamed big orange boy who had had a fling with Big Thumbs.
The start of 2017 was wild. We lost a dear friend who had two cats. They were, shall we say, a rather unique pair and difficult to rehome. Maggie really wanted the cats to be housed with us in the event of her death and that is how it unfolded. Scout, a female ginger, and Mungo, a black male with a neurological disorder resulting in his head being cocked sideways in order to see straight, joined our family.
The assimilation was not successful. Jessie Lee enjoyed a good playful chase and Scout is something of a loud screecher when confronted. It was too much for Sheldon as the hissing, spitting and screeching sent him into spasms of anxiety. They have been sequestered in a spare room since arriving here in late January, 2017. There were not so many issues with the Tot that I recall, but maybe it was all overshadowed by the dynamics between them and the aggressive nature of Jessie Lee.
By the beginning of 2017 Tater Tot was getting feeble and lost a lot of weight rather quickly. He lasted until April. His strength was all but gone. One day his vocals changed and it was clear that he was having periods of pain. I had to make the decision to call the vet and schedule an appointment. I had not been through this since Jezebel’s death thanks to Sheldon dealing with Sweet Pea’s demise in the interim.
I drove my beloved Tot to the nearby vet office. We spent a few minutes chatting. I told him he would forever be my orange boy, my Tot, thanked him for our time together, and then caressed him as the death drugs did their magic. It was difficult for me but I handled it far better than the Jezebel episode.
I brought him home for burial and was startled by how limp and lifeless his body was when I removed him from the carrier. It actually startled me for a second. I placed him in the hole, touched his cute pink nose and his peachy pink toe pads one last time, then covered his body with dirt. I really hated that part.
Within the year or so, Sissy became more feeble. She no longer hopped up on the bed but clawed her way onto it. And I noticed something else. She was going deaf just like Tiger did in his advanced years. She often would not hear me enter the room and would be startled if she was eating with her back to the door and I suddenly walked through. I was still able to communicate with her a bit with certain tones when I would say her name but otherwise I believe she was 90% deaf.
With Tater Tot out of the picture, I began leaving the bedroom door open and allowing Jessie Lee to venture in. There was initially some hissing and spitting at each other. After all, it had been several years since they had been allowed any real contact with each other. And I was concerned that Jessie Lee, being unaware that Sissy was deaf, might inadvertently cause a problem.
After a few weeks it was all going well. I think they somehow understood each other and Jessie Lee was aware of Sissy’s health and hearing issues. Sissy began coming out of the room more frequently, first into the hallway, and then gradually extending her roam into other rooms briefly before retreating back into her sanctuary.
By mid-June she was coming out more and sometimes staying out for lengthy periods of time, and often drinking from Jessie Lee’s water bowl and nibbling at the food bowl. Jessie Lee would simply watch while at the same time showing some kind of concern about this situation.
Things continued to deteriorate further in early July and it was clear that Sissy was nearing death. She had been drinking huge amounts of water for quite some time, months, or maybe even a year. But suddenly she was eating less and looked like a walking skeleton. She would hover in the kitchen or near Jessie Lee’s bowls as if craving something but never getting it. She was also sleeping a lot in the den under Sheldon’s desk rather than in her room. Over the past weekend I carried her back to the bedroom once, in my arms, and she was not purring. That was the clearest sign of all that things were about to change yet again.
Monday morning, 9 July, I had a hunch it was time to take her to the vet. This was confirmed when she started walking back to the bedroom to use her litter box and suddenly lost control of her bladder and urinated on the hallway carpet before reaching the bedroom.
I forced myself to call the vet and schedule an 11:30 appointment. At 11:20 I scooped her up and got her into the carrier for the short trip to the vet.
Sheldon and I decided we would do the cremation this time. It was raining all morning and frankly I’ve dug enough cat holes for a lifetime. If I remember correctly, I think I had to bury Samantha in the wet ground. Why must cats die in the rain?
Sissy and I had a rather interesting conversation on the drive to the vet. A lot has changed with me over the past 20 years as well as Sissy. I’m not the same guy in his late 30s who welcomed her into this house. We are all getting older and we’re all dying. I just wanted Sissy to know this is what’s going on with all of us.
I held her in my arms in the exam room at the vet’s while waiting on the doctor. I put her on the floor once in order to sign some papers. She was so feeble she could barely walk and yet the curiosity regarding all this was still there. She had to sense on some level what was about to happen.
The doctor took her to prepare for the injection. She returned and asked if I wanted to spend some time with her but we had already said everything there was to say. I kissed her head and stroked it gently while the sleep drugs were going in. Within five seconds she went limp. It is always the strangest sensation to be caressing a cat when that happens.
Her eyes were open, still green with peaceful life.
The final death drugs probably took the same amount seconds to kick in and extinguish all. The disappearance of life is so quick and strange. I bent over to give her a final kiss on the bridge of her nose, barely managed to mumble ‘I love you, baby girl,’ and her eyes were as dark as night.
