One morning a few years ago, Anne walked out into our garage to put some towels or something into the dryer. I heard the door close, and a minute of so later, she called out to me, “Wil? Can you come in here? Quickly?”
There was a tiny bit of urgency in her voice, so I jumped up from the couch, ran through the kitchen, across the breezeway, and into the garage. She stood next to the dryer, a pile of wet clothes in her hands.
“Is everything okay?” I said.
“Shh!” She said, and pointed to the middle of the garage. “Listen!”
I did, and after a few moments, I heard a very soft meowing. Both of my cats were indoor cats, so I called out, “Biko? Sketch?”
I turned to Anne. “How did they get out of the house?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but —”
A sleek black cat came walking out from beneath one of several piles of crap we have out there (putting a car into our garage is about as likely as one of us building a rocket in the backyard and colonizing the moon). He had bright yellow/green eyes, a white star on his chest, and little white “socks” on his front paws. He had no tail.
“Hey, Kitty!” Anne said, “what are you doing in my garage?”
She shoved the clothes into the dryer, and crouched down on the floor. The cat began purring loudly as he walked over to her. She extended her hand and he rubbed his little face up against it.
“You are such a little Bear!” She said, as she scratched his ears.
I’ve seen this from her before: she was in love. She looked up at me, like a child. “Can we keep him?”
“We already have two cats, Anne,” I said, “and what if someone misses him?”
“We’ll wait a week, and look for signs around the neighborhood. If we don’t find signs, and he’s still here, we’ll take him to the vet and make sure he’s healthy.”
I’ve also seen this from her before: her mind was made up.
For the next week, he stayed on our patio, and we looked for signs in our neighborhood. We called local shelters. pet stores, and vets and asked if anyone had reported a missing kitty. Nobody had. As far as we could tell, this kitty had just shown up out of thin air; if anyone missed him, they weren’t being very vocal about it.
The first few days of that week, I tried not to get too attached to him, but whenever I walked out onto the patio, he’d talk to me a bunch. If I got close to him, he’d start to purr and rub up against my legs. He was so affectionate, it took about three days for my him to win me over. I started counting down to the seventh day, when we would take him to the vet and know for sure if he could officially become a member of our family.
At the end of the week, we took him to the vet and had him checked for diseases and stuff.
“What’s his name?” The receptionist asked us.
Anne and I looked at each other. Over the week, we had both loved this little guy a lot, but we’d never thought to name him.
“Oscar?” I said.
She smiled and shook her head. “No.” She turned to the receptionist and said, “His name is Felix.”
“Yeah!” I said, “Felix the cat!”
While we were there, we saw a picture on the wall of a cat that looked just like him, and we found out that he was a special breed called a Japanese Bobtail. Over the next few years, this would lead to us calling him “Stumpy,” and referring to his activity as “just stumpin’ around in the yard.” His blood work came back the following day: he was free from all diseases, but his kidney levels were a little high — probably the result of him being just a little dehydrated. We know now that it was much worse, but at the time we were blissfully ignorant, and the Wheaton household grew by one.
We brought him home, and introduced him to our cats. Biko was indifferent, but Sketch cranked at him right away. Ever since he was a kitten, Sketch has been a daddy’s — then (and now) a momma’s — boy. He didn’t like that there was a new kitty in our house who would be siphoning away some of the attention and affection. For the next week or so, there was a lot of peeing on the furniture, but eventually, Biko and Sketch accepted that this new kitty wasn’t going to leave, and his arrival didn’t diminish our love for them.
Felix loved us, but always on his terms. There’s a saying, “Dogs have masters. Cats have staff” and so it was with Felix. He was always affectionate, but he made it clear that he wasn’t our cat: we were his people. We didn’t mind at all.
A few years passed, and Felix brought all kinds of joy into our lives. He had his “rotation,” where he’d sleep on Ryan’s bed for a week or so, then Nolan’s, then with me and Anne. Even though he was just a cat, when he chose to put you on his rotation, you couldn’t help but feel special. Chosen.
We learned quickly that Felix didn’t take any shit from anyone, especially other cats. In the first year that we were his people, he went to the vet several times for shots and stitches after fights with other neighborhood cats. When he went outside, Anne and I started telling him, “Watch for cars, and don’t get into any fights!” He rarely listened, but he was an incredibly tough little guy who earned his nickname “The Bear,” and as far as we know, he never lost a single fight.
About two years ago, we noticed that he spent a couple of days acting a little strange. He didn’t want to be cuddled, he wouldn’t eat very much, and he just looked like he didn’t feel well. We figured it was the result of his latest fight, so Anne took him to the vet for more antibiotics. When she came home, her eyes were red and her cheeks were shiny with tears.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“The vet said that Felix doesn’t feel well because he’s having kidney failure. He could die within a month.” She collapsed onto our bed and sobbed. I did my best to comfort her, while I processed the shock of the news.
“Is there anything we can do?” I said.
“We may be able to give him special food and fluids, but —”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” I said. And we did. We gave him some fluids every morning, put him onto special food, and gave him a little extra love. Within a couple of days, The Bear was stumpin’ around the yard, chasing birds across the grass, and curling up in our laps whenever we sat on the couch. His sleeping rotation put him into our room, and I fell asleep for many nights listening to his soft purring.
The rest of that year, he had ups and downs. One terrifying weekend Felix was rushed to the emergency vet because the gardener sprayed weed killer in our front yard — which I’d specifically told him not to do — and Felix had walked through it. During that stay at the vet’s, I visited him often. WWdN readers were really supportive of Anne and me, and I blogged a “note” from The Bear:
“Hi. ThiS iS FELix. My Mom AND Dad ToLD mE HoW MUCh WWDN ReADerS SupPoRteD ThEM whiLe I wAs SiCK, aND i WaNT to sAY ThANK you. ThEy LovE ME A loT AnD I KnOW THIS Was hard FoR thEM.”
During that stay, we found out that his kidney disease had progressed more rapidly than we expected. He was up to about 85% failure, and he was starting to become anemic. He had lost a bunch of weight, and was down to about 11 pounds. Again, we made mental preparations for the worst, and again Felix surprised us all by bouncing right back to life.
A few weeks ago, Felix started to look and act like he felt icky, so we took him to the vet yet again. This came on the heels of my cat Sketch’s near-death experience, so my nerves were pretty frayed. “I wish I could get frequent flier miles here,” I joked to the receptionist for the hundredth time. She politely pretended that I wasn’t the most annoying pet owner in the world.
We ran some tests on him, and the results confirmed our worst fears: his kidneys were almost completely destroyed, and he had developed such a severe case of anemia his body wasn’t able to get any nutrition out of his food. He was, quite literally, wasting away.
It was clear that if we didn’t do anything, he was going to die within a few days. We talked it over with our vet, and she told us that our options were to put Felix to sleep, or give him Epogen injections three times a week, sub-q fluids twice a day, liquid vitamins and an aluminum hydroxyde suspension each morning. It seemed like an awful lot of stuff to do, but Anne and I talked about it, and tried to figure out what was best for Felix, we would not prolong his life simply because we didn’t want to say goodbye . . . but if we could help him feel better, and have good quality of life, then we would do whatever we could afford to do. We talked it over with his vet, and decided that we’d try this out for two weeks.
“What are the odds of him bouncing back?” I asked his vet.
“If it was any other cat, I’d say very slim,” she said, “but Felix is one of the toughest kitties I’ve ever seen. Honestly, his kidney values are so high, any other kitty would have died by now.”
“Is there anything we should watch for?”
She told us what I’ve heard from hundreds of WWdN readers: “Your cat will let you know if he’s ready to go, or if he wants to stick around and try to feel better.”
That was two weeks ago. For the first week, Felix perked up, but he didn’t bounce back the way he always had before. He stopped being reclusive, but he wasn’t as affectionate as he’d always been. I hoped against hope that he’d miraculously recover, like he always did, but it just wasn’t happening. I realized that I was watching him die.
A few nights ago, I sat in my dining room and read my book. I felt something brush up against my leg. I looked down and saw The Bear. He was so skinny (just over six pounds) his spine stood up on his back like Mr. Burns.
“How are you feeling, The Bear?” I said.
He let out a slow and quiet meow, and walked into the living room. He wavered when he walked, like he was unsteady, or uncomfortable, or both. When he was about fifteen feet away from me, he stopped, crouched down on the floor, and flicked his little stump.
“Your cat will let you know if he’s ready to go . . .”
I got up from the table and walked over to him. I felt a lump rising in my throat as I got down next to him on the floor.
“Are you done?” I said.
He flicked his stump, and looked up at me. His eyes looked a little cloudy; his third eyelid was closed about a third of the way.
“Okay, Felix. Okay.” I scratched his little bony head. He purred weakly and tightly shut his eyes.
I knew this moment would come, and I hoped that I’d be prepared to face it, but I wasn’t. Huge sobs shook my body. Giant tears fell off my face and ran down my nose.
Ferris cautiously walked over to me from the kitchen. She stopped about three feet from me, sat down, and cocked her head to one side.
“Felix is dying, Ferris,” I said. “I’m okay. I’m just sad.”
She sighed, and laid down on the floor with her head between her paws. She watched me while I sat there and cried.
Later that night, Anne and I had The Talk. We decided that we’ve done all that we can to help him, but it’s just not enough. He’s not really living now . . . he’s just staying alive. We promised each other, and we promised Felix, that we wouldn’t keep him alive just because we didn’t want to say goodbye. Yesterday morning, I called the vet and had The Talk with her. We made an appointment to bring Felix in tomorrow morning.
I know I’m doing the right thing, but that doesn’t make it any easier. As I’ve written this today (and it’s taken most of the day to write — I’ve had to stop writing this several times just to get a grip on myself.) I have realized that Felix hasn’t been The Bear for a long time.
I will miss seeing him stand up and stretch himself out on the trunk of Anne’s car, before he jumps down onto the driveway and greets me when I open my car door. I will miss him jumping up into my car, and talking to me while he walks around and explores the passenger compartment. I will miss watching him sit in the grass and torment the squirrel in the tree next door. I will miss watching him stump around in the backyard. But most of all, I will miss being on his rotation. Even when he decided that four in the morning was when he needed to go outside, and the best way to accomplish that was to run across our heads until one of us woke up and let him out.
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I lost one of my cats last winter after she had a long illness, so I know how difficult that can be. It’s hard to see them go like that. I’m very sorry for your loss.
Oh, Will, I’m so sorry.
Sorry Wil… 🙁
Wil,
I know there is nothing any of us can say that will make this any easier. Just know that we know what you are going through and it is the right thing to do. Euthanization is very humane and unselfish. Your story had me crying as I read it at work. Be strong like the bear.. things will look up. Lots of hugs to you and the family.
Kate
Oh Wil…this is just so sad for all of you. You’re a good ‘staffmember’ to have seen what Felix was telling you.
Much love (in a non-stalker sobbing blog reader way) to you and Anne and the kids and the furballs.
Felix…when you get to Rainbow Bridge, say hi to Noelle and Mickey for me.
*Hugs* and *Hugs* to the Wheaton Family/Zoo.
sad news, Wil. Sending hugs to you and your family. I’m sure Felix has had a grand life with impeccable staff, and i bet he knows it 🙂
I’ve lost 3 cats in my life, and I know how it feels. All of them lasted at least 10 years, and it’s hard to let go.
really sorry to hear about felix. poor little guy.
My cat used to have a rotation thing for sleeping on beds too, but after i while i kinda figured out why he was doing it. Certain times of the year the sun would shine in different windows on the house and he would pick the bed with the most heat from the sun. clever or what?!
I’m so sorry Wil. I just pulled myself together enough to type this, sobbing by the end of your post. Take care, and hugs to your family. Felix will get to hang out with my cat Blackberry, who we put to sleep quite a few years ago but I still feel like she’s just in the other room waiting for a treat. I keep having dreams that I can’t find her, and just now I remembered those dreams. Pets never really truly leave, they’re a part of your heart forever.
I’m so sorry Wil, it really is one of the hardest decisions you can make.
I am so sorry, Wil!
Felix will go to a better place & won’t be hurting anymore. 🙁
You guys were good humans to him!
Wil,
This one really hits home hard because I had to have The Talk yesterday and help my dog pass on to the 3rd Life. We have had her for almost 16 years – well before the kids were born – she was family. But it was time and we did what was best for her – not necessarily what was best for us.
This has been really hard on the whole family – especially my wife. After it was over, we are constantly second guessing ourselves and asking if it was really the right time.
The pain fades but never goes away. But that pain helps you remember someone that had such a significant impact on your life.
Hang in there.
Wil,
I know nothing we can say will take the pain away but I was near tears from the post. Know that you have a large group of people who care about Felix and the rest of the “staff”. You were a great family for him and you were very lucky to have such a great cat.
Michael
Hi Wil-
First time poster-
Yesterday I brought home a new pet, the first animal I’ve ever owned as a “grown up.” Every other pet I’ve had has been a family pet, I’ve never been responsible for a living thing all on my own before and I’ve been going crazy with worry about how this little, vulnerable puppy depends on me for its safety and survival.
People who don’t own pets don’t always understand the emotional connection you get with an animal…how a cat or a dog or any other animal becomes an integral part of your family and how you learn to love them with your whole heart. I sat on my bed, reading your post and cried. I hope you and your family find comfort in knowing that you gave a precious little creature love and care and family when he was all alone in the world. That love kept him alive (and kicking!) for years longer than he would have had and I’m sure he thanks you for it.
I’m truly sorry for you and your family’s loss and I think you’ve handled the situation amazingly.
Oh God, that’s harsh.
My cat Springsteen was one of those cats that was really independent and wasn
Wil, I’m so so so sorry to hear this. I’ve become so attached to your cats through the wonderful stories you tell about them, I feel like I’m losing one of my own. I know how hard this is for you…I’ve been there, too.
Sending lots of positive thoughts your way as you get through this with Anne, the kids, and the furry ones. Peace, Danielle.
I just signed up so I can leave a comment here. Your entry has left me in tears, and my kitties are wondering why I’m suddenly all over them. :}
Wil, I am so sorry for what you and your family are going through. Felix will live forever in your memories. You gave him a very good life, and I’m sure he appreciates everything you have done (and are doing) for him.
Wil,
Felix was meant to be a part of your life and your family’s life. He came into it mysteriously out of nowhere, plopped himself onto your laps and said, “I want to be a part of your life for a while. I want to become a part of your happiness.” And it appears he has done just that.
You are an amazing person to take him in and give him a home and love, and he has given you everything and more in return. Were there any moments where his actions prevented an argument? Were there countless times his purring calmed and soothed you? It is amazing what little things he could do that would end up moving mountains, and those little things were meant especially for you.
It may be his time to go, but be rest assured his time was well spent. He couldn’t have found a better family to support.
Little angels from heaven helping us along the way.
I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear about this. I’ve helped to keep a few kitty’s alive the way you did with the fluids/subcue treatments/pills and it is always a swing from joy at saving them to the gutwrenching realization that there is nothing you can do to help anymore.
Just remember that “The Bear” is forever on your rotation and if you’re lucky, “The Bear 2” will show up to soften the hurt.
Peace and Long Life…
I would probly lose it if my cat got sick. ive had her for 5 years now and it would probly be the hardest thing in the world for me. but i know she will be waiting for me when I die 🙂
I am so very, very sorry. My heart breaks for you and Anne. You’ll be in my thoughts tomorrow.
Goodbye dear Felix. I’m so sorry Wil. Your story is a wonderful tribute to what sounds like one terrific cat. My heart aches for all of you.
Michelle
I am just so sorry. Very sad. 🙁 You, Anne, and the kids, will be in my thoughts tonight and tomorrow. Stay strong. *big hugs*
Dammit, Wil, I have a date to go on, and now I’m sobbing. Gahh!
*hugs* to you and the fam. I’ve been there enough times to know. Thinking of you.
Dear Wil,
I’m so sorry to hear about Felix and I think you and Anne are excellent pet-owners and people for being able to discern what your cats need you to know. It takes such bravery to not be a selfish person in such a situation.
I have two kittens, a brother & sister adopted in July 2004 (Gimlee and Bella). I can’t imagine anything happening to them now, much less after years and years of loving them.
I’m hoping that you and your family don’t feel the sadness for very much longer. Lots of people are thinking good things for you.
All the best.
I miss my own two long departed black kitties… Bomber and Petey. Felix is going to have a lot of good company.
Hugs to your family “(in a non-stalker sobbing blog reader way)”
Victoria
Farewell, Bear. Say hello to Patches, and Jynx, and Trixie when you get to your next stop. They’ll take good care of you, and show you the ropes. Say hi for me.
My heartfelt sympathies. Over the years, wondering why we’re on this planet, the only satisfactory answer I’ve ever consistently returned to is that we’re here to leave the world a better place, and I’m thankful to all of those who have done so.
You’ve done that for many people, Wil Wheaton, and the Bear has done that for you. What else is there?
:hugs:
What sad day it must be you and your family.Made my eyes tear. Somethin’ how animals just give you that I’m tired, no more look. I had to do this with my dog of 15years. My heart goes out to you all.
Right there with you guys, Wil. It’s heartbreaking to have to lose a member of the family. I hope each one of you knows that thanks to the website there are thousands of people behind you.
It sounds like you’ve done right by Felix. Good job.
I’m so sorry to hear about The Bear, and my heart goes out to your family.
omg Wil.. I am so very sad for you & your family losing Felix.. I know what it’s like to lose a furkid family member… a few times over.. The only thing I can say to try and comfort you is that you know you did your very best to love and care for him while he’s here.. I think you KNOW that he knew that too.. That is why he came to live with you & Anne.
He knew your home would be a place where he could live his life out and be loved and cared for..
Sincerest condolences,
Pamela =)
By the way, not to change the subject or anything, but I noticed the ad in your sidebar stipulating that Doogie Howser may have been the first blogger. I disagree. What about Capt. Kirk, with his weekly starlog entries, broadcast to all who tuned in?
Aw, man, I’m so sorry. I’m just about in tears at work, reading this. I’ve been through similar with pets (my family used to breed dogs), and it’s hard, every single time. I hope I can be as strong as you’ve been, and I can only hope my pets trust me as much as yours have trusted you. My boys came from a shelter. I have a guess how old they are, but I don’t know. All I can hope is that we all do right by the little critters. *hug*
Wil,
I’m so sorry about Felix. My condolences go out to you, Anne, and the kids. 🙁 *hugs*
*sniffle* I’m sorry you have to go through this. But I wanted to thank you for the wonderful tribute to The Bear you’ve made by writing the story of his life here. What a beautiful kitty.
I’m sorry. When I had to put my kitty down in the summer it was the toughest decision that I had ever made. 🙁
hey wil,
just letting you know you all are in my thoughts. My cat has a similar problem and is a fighter as well. 🙂 Just remember the good times.
I’m so sorry that your baby had to suffer. It won’t get any easier, this is true.
Whether you believe in an afterlife or not, the fact remains that Felix will no longer be suffering.
The fact that you can let him go instead of forcing him to suffer just proves that you love him.
Wil-
I completely understand. I got choked up as soon as I read the title. I’m sorry about Felix, but it sounds like it’s time. I’ll be thinking about you guys.
Hey Wil,
As I started reading this I was thinking this sounds like a story from your newest book, and it was. I just wanna say how sorry I am to hear about Felix. Just remember the best times that you had and he will never truly be gone. I also wanna say your book just a geek is great. i bought yesterday just after lunch and it was the first time i ever read a book in half a day. ever you are ever in Indiana, and need a place to stay, give me a yell and i’ll see what I can do.
That was a lovely remembrance. It’s always surprising to find how much our pets are part of the family, and it’s always sad that we sometimes don’t realize how much a part of our lives they are until it’s time to say goodbye. Going to go give the dogs a good rub and round of play in the yard.
Best wishes and sympathy.
Wil
As I sit here and try to send you my deepest sympathy, the tears are still running down my face. Having followed the great battle of Felix The Bear my heart goes out to you and the family. Cherish the good times as I know you do and thank God for all the good times that Felix gave you and your family. He was sent to you that day a few years ago so that he could get the best and have the best the world could offer. You and your family gave the best years he could have had. Thank you. *Hugs*
Hey Wil,
I’m so sorry to hear about Felix. I have been a cat lover all my life, but I do confess to having a special spot in my heart for Japanese Bobtails. A few years back I started breeding and showing them as well. Felix definitely fits the personality profile of the breed too: strong, smart, and utterly fearless.
My clowder (Bobtails and moggy-cats alike) are sending purrs of comfort and love.
Wil, I had to stop reading this mid-way. We had to go through the same thing. Our family lost the sweetest gray lady from Feline Lukemia a few years back. On Monday we took her to the vet and said we’d do everything to make her comfortable until she said it was time. That Friday she could not use the litter box or eat. We loved her and did not want to let her go but we did not want her to suffer anymore. I cried like a baby…which was her name, Baby.
A bit of happiness, my brother in law gave my parents a new cat shortly therafter for company and now she lets me live with her now. She’s my princess and she let’s me know it.
I’m so, so sorry. Oskar, who ever so kindly accepted me as his can opener almost nine years ago, is sitting next to me wondering why I’m crying and giving him treats even though he was eating my flowers only minutes ago.
You and your family are in my thoughts.
I’m sorry about Felix, my eyes welled up reading your post. You’ll be in my thoughts.
I’m so sorry, Wil. I know how tough it is, I had to say goodbye to my little brat cat last november, and I’m still missing her very much. *hugs* for you and the family
Wil, this is hard. I remember having to sit there, as my families cat was put to sleep. Her name was Kilo. We got her from my uncle, as a street cat in Buffalo, NY. Her best friend acidently got run over by my grandma. She let me and my sister wash her, but only if she was in the sun, and she let us know she didn’t like it. She was always just a little grumpy, unless she was in our laps. And we loved her lots. It was hard to see her go…the house felt empty.
We have 2 new cats there now. Even though i don’t live there anymore i feel like they’re mine.
Best of luck.