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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OOOPS! Total typo….they were here on this earth with me…..I was crying while typing and my emotions got the best of me.
I know you have heard this a couple of hundred times today but I am very sorry. Last Monday I had to put my Lab, Doc, down. He was 13 and he lived a long wonderful life. He had cancer that spread to his liver and kidneys which took him down very fast. When you get sad just sit back and remember how much joy Felix brought to your life and how blessed you are that he found you. Thank you for sharing this with everyone. I hope that this helps in some way. Take Care.
Nicole
Peace to Felix the Bear, and Peace to you all.
I’m so sorry for your loss.
That sucks. I’d like to be a bit more eloquent, but there’s really no other way of putting it. That really REALLY sucks.
I can’t imagine what that would be like to go through. I pray that I may never be stricken with such knowledge.
As I’ve followed The Bear’s story I must tell you how proud I’ve been of Anne and yourself for the strength of your love. When you agreed to give him one more chance I exclaiming an all-too-clich
I would just like to say that Felix is/was lucky to have you there to help him in his greatest hour of need. I lost my favorite companion a year and a half ago, and couldn’t be there for her as I always promised her I would be. She had to die alone because of it. It still breaks me up.
You’re a good man, Wil.
Ugh.
(sigh)
/going to hug “Daisy”, my white-socked little monster.
Oh, man, Wil, you made me cry.
Thinking of you and hoping you find comfort in the knowledge that you gave Felix a grand life. He knows he was loved: that’s about the best thing you can do on this earth.
I can’t even imagine what you are going through right now. Always keep Felix in your thoughts, and remember all the good times you had with him.
My little sister’s dog is getting up in years, and I don’t even want to think about what’s going to happen in the future…
Anyway, stay tough man. Remember you’re kids will look to you as their role model; don’t let them down.
Oh Wil.
I’m so sorry about your loss… It’s a tough decision to make, but it was the best thing for Felix…
I’ve been there and even though it hurt, I knew it was the right choice for my kitty, too.
Take care of each other
Gizmo was just wondering why I was upset; she came and mewed at me whilst I was reading the news. I wish I’d read this yesterday. I wish that in a few years time I don’t have to go through this with her but I know it’s going to happen and that makes life seem unfair. But then he does know it’s his time, and in a way that is good; my late father-in-law knew when it was his time to go and although it was sad when he went it was also a relief because he expected it and was ready for it. I guess the last thing I really want is anyone – cat or human or whatever – leaving this world kicking and screaming; it’s certainly not the way I’d want to react.
A cat to me isn’t a pet; it’s a friend and as much a part of the family as any two-legged member. Even the moodiest sod of a mog in the world is there for someone when they need them the most. And that doesn’t just apply to cats; dogs, birds, anything that has become a part of life has that bond. And it really hurts when it’s gone. Blackstar, one of my cats, died in May 2002, the victim of a car; the gap left behind remains to this day. Ogrek said ‘If my cat isn’t allowed in Heaven then I won’t go.’ I can’t remember who originally wrote it but it’s a good quote.
Goodbye Bear.
You made me cry…once again. There is something impossible to articulate about the loss of a cherished pet. You are doing the right thing for The Bear, and he knows it. However, the thought of losing this little soul that has graced your home by his presence seems impossible to bear. The feelings of loss will eventually grow into cherished memories. All the best wishes for you, Anne, the kids, the menagerie – your memories of Felix will keep him alive in your hearts (and ours!)
I am so sorry to read about your cat. It made me cry to hear about this. I have had beloved pets die in the past, and it is very difficult. But I believe animals have a place in Heaven, and we well see them again someday in the future.
Oh honey, I am so very sorry. You guys have been so brave and strong on this (I know you don’t feel like it) It won’t be easy to take him in but you are respecting his wishes and that’s awesome. God Bless the little furry beastie, he’s earned a rest.
My deepest sympathy, Wil, to you and your family. From personal experience, I know just how hard it is to let them go (because, let’s face it, they’re not pets, they’re part of the family). As I read through your entry I knew what was coming and I couldn’t fight back the tears. *Hugs to you all*.
I’m awful at poetry, but here goes…
Poor little Felix.
He’s not been feeling too well.
He’s been struggling along,
But it’s time, you can tell.
That cute little kitten
Grew up into a bear.
Now he’s being taken away,
It just isn’t fair.
A cute little soul.
A fighter of a boy.
It’s sad to see him go,
He’s bought you such joy.
Think of those good times.
Those feelings run deep,
But put on a smile
When little Felix goes to sleep.
He won’t suffer any more
It’s all for the best.
The poorly little kitty,
Will now get some rest.
I was crying even at the beginning of your post because I knew what it was going to say. I was in your exact spot Jan. 2 of this year, so all I can say is, I understand your pain, and I will tell my Schiele to give Felix some welcoming purrs and headbutts when he crosses the Rainbow Bridge. And I’ll send some mojo to you, Anne, and the kids (human and fur) as well.
Aw sheesh. I’m sorry about this.
Aw….I’m so sorry. I know how you feel, I too have felt the loss of a beloved cat. You have my deepest sympathy.
“And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make”
-The Beatles
I’m so sorry, Wil.
I’ve almost run out of tissues now. Every time I hear about someone losing a pet all I can think of is my kitty, that someone’s bumper took away from me too young. I’m sure I’m not alone: just look at the 300+ comments. People all around the world are thinking back to pets they’ve lost, remembering when they first met them, all their little quirks, the look in their eyes, the touch of thousands of little wet noses.
I had a few confused moments to say goodbye, but you have until tomorrow morning. Fill Felix’s last hours with all the love in the world.
This is hard :'( I need another tissue now, only two left. It’s ok to break down and cry, because he’s your Bear. All the mojo in the world to you and all your family, human or otherwise. I’d better save the last tissue.
lv j
Dear Wil and Family,
I am sorry for your loss. A few years ago, one of our cats developed kidney disease. It finally got to a point where he was really suffering, so we had to decide to let go. It was the right thing to do, but it was still hard. At least Felix is in a better place now.
Give him all your love and know that he’ll be up in that special kitty place that kitties go, chasing birds, squirrels, and other critters feeling as happy as can be. He’ll have a few bouts to show everyone who’s boss, but after that it’ll be warm milk, pretty girl cats, and lazy days.
My condolences to you and your family.
Stay strong
I really shouldn’t have read this at work. I can hardly sit here and not start crying. I’ve lost a cat I had for 18 years and that was incredibly difficult for me. I know exactly what you’re going through and I dread the day my current cat’s time is up. All I can do is say I’m sorry for your loss of a family member. I wish you the best.
That’s it, I can’t control myself anymore. Take care Wil.
I’m so sorry Wil. Take Care.
-L
My deepest sympathies to all of you. It is heartbreaking to have any pet die, the trip to the vet for the ones who are suffering tears you apart even when you know it is the best choice for your friend. Love has its terrible moments but is always worthwhile. CarolG
I am so sorry, Wil. (((Hugs))) to you, Anne, the boys and the kitties. Felix had a good life with you. Try to hold on to the good memories.
Christina in GA
I am so sorry, Wil. There isn’t much more to say than that. I have four cats of my own and love them more than I love most people. One of them is chronically ill and we’ve had some serious scares, the most recent one right around New Year’s. Your post has me sobbing and grateful that my Gus is currently doing okay. Much love to you and your family.
aw, i am so sorry wil. i had to go through this same thing a couple of years ago and it isn’t easy. ~m
Wil, I am so sorry you are going through this. I thought I was going to have to make the same decision for one of my dogs, Mouse, just a week ago. She ended up having surgery to remove a huge mass from her abdomen. I had to make a decision before they took her into surgery – if there were tumors in her lungs that hadn’t shown up on the xray, then he was to let her go, not wake her out of anesthesia. It makes me cry even now, and she’s recovering just fine not two feet from me.
I’ll have some very hard decisions to make regarding her future (as well as my next oldest dog, Bug), but I pray I don’t have to make those decisions anytime soon.
You guys gave Felix a long, happy, safe life. I love you all for that alone and my heart goes out to your entire family for what you are having to go through.
Oh Wil – I’m so sorry. I’m in tears here for you and the other members of your *ensemble*.
This is one of the hardest decisions to make – and you’ve done it with heart and class. Felix knows how much you love him.
As long as you and yours remember Felix, he lives.
((((((Hugs)))))) from this mushy nerd girl.
Lorrian
To the Wheatons
After reading this post, I could not stop crying for near on twenty minutes. As a lifetime cat-person, I know what it is to lose a furry family member. I posted a small obituary notice to my blog here. It took me all day to come up with just this, too.
You are all with us in our hearts and minds and prayers. We’re here for you, should you need us.
Wheatons,
I’m sorry to hear about Felix. Being a pet owner, I know how losing one can be. I know that he had a great life and he knew who loved him and took care of him.
My deepest sympathy and sincerest condolences.
Rob
Hi Wil,
Another long-time reader (usually via the RSS feed on LiveJournal) who signed up today to comment after your latest entry left me in tears…
Your family is in my thoughts tonight. You did the best you could for Felix.
My best to you and your family.
Wil,
I think you gave Felix a great tribute on your blog and from the comment count, I think you’ve touched a lot of people, myself including.
I was sad all over again because your account reminded me of the day almost a year ago when I found my dog Snowy with that “ready to go” look in her eyes. I still have her picture next to my monitor at work.
We hurt much because we love deeply, Wil. One thing that helped me is the vet’s reassurance that it was the right thing to do. It kept me from wondering if I’ve done all that I could to help her. I don’t know if you and Anne have any burial plans, but you might consider planting a tree or something in memoriam.
You and Anne took great care of Felix.
Sincerely,
Holly
I’m so sorry, Wil. There’s nothing I can say that hasn’t already been said, but my thoughts are with you and Anne and the boys. You cared for Felix as best as you could, which is all anyone can do. *hugs*
Crying… Just know he will be happy over the rainbow – together with all our special pals.
Rainbow Bridge story->
http://hicards.com/platinum/joycards/joycard10.html
I’m so sorry to hear about your Felix. He was loved. From your words you had a unique and special rapport with each of your pets. Peace be with you and know that you did what you could for him. He tried to stay with you but in the end, his heart was not enough. I’m glad that you and your family (including your four footed members) will be together in the grieving process.
Felix will never be completely gone. He’s in your hearts and now ours.
I’m so sorry to hear about your Felix. He was loved. From your words you had a unique and special rapport with each of your pets. Peace be with you and know that you did what you could for him. He tried to stay with you but in the end, his heart was not enough. I’m glad that you and your family (including your four footed members) will be together in the grieving process.
Felix will never be completely gone. He’s in your hearts and now ours.
Wil and family,
Growing up on a farm has afforded me the privilege of always having pets around. None have brought greater joy to my life than my cats. At times we had about 20 or so cats living outside in our barn. Currently we have 11 cats living in our house. They can be a handful at times, but we really do love each of them like a member of the family (pardon the clich
I’m so sorry Wil.
When I was in my late teens to early twenties I was a vet tech. I have participated in putting literally hundreds of much loved pets to sleep. I never felt sad for the cats and dogs, because I knew that it was peaceful and kind to let them go, but my heart always bled for the people they left behind. I have seen everyone from young children to big, buff, Major League baseball players fall apart when saying goodbye. And, yes, everytime it’s one of my own beloved pets, I dissolve into a big bucket of helpless, grief stricken tears.
All this is to say that what you are doing is kind, beautiful, loving and right. Felix will know he is loved to his last breath, and that is all a cat really wants in life (whether they’ll admit it or not).
Life is eternal and love is immortal; And death is only a horizon, And a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.
–Rossiter W. Raymond
Wheaton Family,
Our condolences and best wishes to you all.
Felix,
Have a happy journey.
Love Tara, Kenobi, and Anakin
I think this is the first time I have read your blog and cried. I am so sorry for your loss.
My prayers and thoughts are with you and your family.
Wil, I’m sorry to hear about your cat’s passing. My thoughts are with you and your family.
Wil and Anne
I know you two will be ok. You have a strong bond with eachother. Just remember felix may not be the bear on this earth but, where ever he will be after he passes on he will once again be the bear forevermore.
Wil, I’m so sorry about Felix. I’m crying as I type this, with some difficulty because one of my kitty boys, Tenshi, is trying to “help” me write it.
I haven’t lost an animal friend since I was a child, but their mortality has been on my mind lately, since my beautiful little 4-year-old Russian Blue girl, Meep, was diagnosed with feline lymphoma in January. So far she’s doing fine on chemo and with luck she might hold on for another year or even two (or if we’re trememdously lucky, she might even be “cured”), but nonetheless I can’t help but be reminded whenever I see her that she won’t be around forever, that someday I’ll be forced to make that decision for her. The thought devastates me, but on the other hand, my time with her after the diagnosis has been some of the best we’ve ever had, because I’ve valued every day with her as a precious gift.
Felix was so fortunate to have caring people who loved him and who were willing to make the hard choices with nothing but his best interests in mind. Your words make me cry, but the love you have for this little cat shines through in every last one of them.
“To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.” –Albus Dumbledore
Since we all know how well-organized cat’s minds are…here’s to Felix’s next great adventure, and to all the stories you’ll share with him someday when you meet up again.
Really sorry for you and your family mate, My Mothers cat ‘Mooch’ passed on monday maybe they will keep each other company on their new adventure staking out new territory to own, wherever that may be. I am sure the Bear will be a lot happier now, so you don’t have to worry anymore.
Wil,
So sorry to hear about Felix. Your words were very touching and they brought tears to my eyes. My heart goes out to the Wheaton family. ::hugs::
Wil,
Your story moved me to tears today while checking your site in a computer lab at school. We have a cat that is in bad shape as well and are currently making “the decison” so I know how hard these past few days must have been for you. My heart goes out to you and your family, as I’m sure this is a very hard time for everyone in your house.
I’m so sorry, Wil.
Hugs and love to you and your family, and I know, one day, you will see Felix again.
You did the right thing, even though I know how hard it was.
*cries*
It’s ok, you knew what you had to do.
All I can do is make you laugh….
http://img233.exs.cx/img233/7096/minibath8pi.jpg