My Cat Friend

Today I received the results and Figgy has carcinoma. He has two weeks or less to live. I think he'll probably go next week and I'll call the vet when it seems time.

These are some of my memories of Figgy. Originally when Eric and I were together we had one cat and thought of getting another. We were also looking for a place so Eric kept making signs saying we had two cats. I said, don' t do that. People are reluctant enough to rent to someone with one cat. So Eric's sign changed to two cats: one real and one imaginary. When we did get the second cat, a cute little tuxedo kitten that had been named Stache by the shelter because he had a little white moustache, his name became Figment.

Over the years I've called him Fig, Figgy, Figarubu, Figaroni, Figbert, Figster, Figgy Duff, etc. I have one of Figgy's milk teeth from when he was teething. I also have a collection of kitty whiskers. The first place we lived in had a little stuffed tiger (one of those Chevron save the animals things) and Figgy would carry it around in his mouth. He was about as big as it was and it was so cute. One day I picked up this little stuffed tiger and found blood on its throat.

As Figgy grew his stuffed cat toys grew too. He'd tear the throats out of them and I'd have to buy a new one. At some point I moved to stuffed dogs because it just seemed more natural. His last ones were about his size but he stopped playing with them a few years ago when Venus came along.

As a kitten and throughout, Figgy has loved his little furry mice. When he was little I could throw the mouse and he would catch it, then bring it back, over and over until he was panting. But as an adult he expected me to throw them and then bring them back to throw again. He also wanted to chase darts going into the dart board when he was a kitten. He was a consummate mouser and birder, but more for play than for vittles and he really stopped catching things about five or so years ago.

Figgy was pretty brave as a kitten and would even bat at the vacuum cleaner. But there was a killer Tom that got him cornered on the back porch once and then when he was still fairly young I think he was attacked by a raccoon because he came in muddied and wet, with his back toenail torn out. Along the way he became my new age sensitve cat and would jump if someone's gortex jacket slithered across itself. He was better around women than men, I think because he was used to a certain tone. But there have been a very few people who could pick him up besides me. He was 15 pounds of pure muscle and heavy to hold for long so it's a good thing he didn't like to be held for more than a minute. Only after about five years did Fig let my landlady Suzanne get near to him and pet him. My neighbor Keith had to work at it longer and Figgy was always cautious outside.

Except when he was a young punk and he would flop down in the middle of the street. He used to give me heart attacks when he did that. Some of Fig's other favourite games was to hunker down in the grass when it got long and pretend he was a large desert lion. His eyes would get so big and if it was a blustery day he was positively wild, frisking back and forth. He also had a thing for orb like objects. Whether stone or pear he would run at it, grab it, flop down on his side and disembowel the thing before bolting off. That was more of a teenage thing though.

A game we've played up until recently was hide and seek. If I was outside walking down the path he would zip ahead and hide in the grass or leaves and I had to say, "Where's Figgy?" Then he'd leap out at me. A couple of times he did suprise me. In the house I would do the same, call his name and look at him and then run and hide behind the wall. I surprised him more than he surprised me but it's been the longest lasting game.

I have always loved his smiles. When I arrived home he'd come down the walk, his tail straight in the air and his eyes closing; definitely a smile. Figgy is a lot of a one-person cat. I've always said Venus would find someone else if I disappeared but Fig would pine for me. The first few times that I went away on weekends he was so mad at me that he wouldn't let me pet him all day and then would be super affectionate at night.

Except for a few occasions Figgy has always slept with me at night, on my left side, always. He would curl up and purr and fall asleep, and stay until morning. On mornings when I could leisurely get up and he knew I was waking slowly, he would crawl up on my chest and purr, facing me, licking my hands, giving me kitty kisses. He used to try licking my chin but then he'd do these sharp love bites and I'd yell. He knows even now, when he gives me those bites on my fingers, that he's not supposed to because he still pulls his head back, waiting for the reprimand. But he gets so loving and trusting that he will put his head into my cupped hand and sleep, protected.

His little pervy thing is at night when he'd jump on the bed. Sometimes he'd start the whole "I'm so happy, I'm purring and kneading" thing. Well, it sometimes turns into his hips doing the herky jerky. I never let him get this far if I can stop him because he musked one of my sweaters once and he was fixed. But his little pink winky would come out. with the hip humpies. So my strategy was to keep moving my feet under the covers or to grab for his scruff, which he hated. It's the domination thing. He'd growl and jump off the bed and clean his pink winky, then come back to bed and go to sleep. Once in a while, he's swatted at me, but I'm his human, not his lover.

Figgy is approximately 14. He might actually be 15. I was always afraid to count to high and get to the tragedy number. I don't know his real age because he was a shelter kitten but I've had him since he was so small. He's always been a handsome guy and we used to at one time do somersaults. I'd grab him from the top of the scratching post and flip him over. He'd then look up at the ceiling, his eyes going back and forth, all intrigued by the view. We'd play spin the cat on the desk chair, and he'd hunker down. When the chair stopped he'd bite it.

He's been my companion through a relationship, through various boyfriends and through many years of being single. He's my family and I'll miss him terribly. He's been there for me always, loved me no matter how good or bad I looked, how stupid or smart I may be. I rarely in all the years ever got mad at him, and only squirted him with a water bottle when he was a kid and used to attack the other cat.

His favorite food is smoked salmon and after the first time he had it, I found him with his paws wrapped around the fridge door, trying to open it. He can no longer eat the salmon unfortunately. He's always loved stringy things and used to bring worms in, to dry into the carpet.

My handsome, loving little guy will be gone soon and even Venus won't be able to fill that hole. But these memories of Figgy will always be here and in my heart.