Any cat person worth their salt can tell you that each cat is as individual as each person; cats are not all alike, and anyone who says cats are all the same usually just dislikes cats.
Each one is unique and special, and I've learned certain cats are character cats. I define a character cat as one so utterly unique and quirky, that once their lives are finished, their antics and zany personalities leave an indelible mark on the people who loved them. Nothing is ever the same once these cats are gone.
Here at my cat shelter, we lost one of our character cats, our precious Uz Fuzz.
Uz Fuzz was a big black, long haired cat with beady, deep set eyes, with a face that always reminded me a bit of a baboon.
Fourteen years ago, before we accepted every cat that showed up, and when I still lived in town, I opened my front door one night, and in walked this big black, fuzzy cat I had never seen before, as if he owned the place. He was perfectly at ease and totally calm. Most cats freak if they're in a strange place. When I recovered from my shock, I got a bowl of dry cat food and picked up said cat, and placed him back on the front porch with the food. I thought that was that, but Uz Fuzz had other ideas.
We couldn't keep Uz Fuzz out of the house. We couldn't keep Uz Fuzz out of our fenced yards. If Uz Fuzz didn't hang at my house, he walked across the alley and frequented Mom and Dad's house. To this day, I have never seen such chutzpah and determination. Uz Fuzz climbed over our fences, specially designed to keep our cats inside our yards, as easily as the wind blows. He unabashedly walked up our cat ramp and through the window, left open for our cats to enter the house at will, and parked himself at the kitchen door whenever he was hungry, saying in cat, “You may feed me now.”
Astonished, I fed him.
Finally, hoping he was a neighborhood cat who just enjoyed jerking our chain, we put him in the car and drove him a block or so up the street, then let him out.
He beat us back home.
So we admitted defeat and scheduled him for shots and neutering with our vet, but he disappeared at the time of the first appointment, and we had to reschedule a couple times. When we managed to get him to the vet's office, the amused receptionist asked, “Is this the famous cat?”
We didn't adopt Uz Fuzz; Uz Fuzz adopted us. Uz Fuzz didn't live life; he reveled in it.
To give him outings (when the weather permitted), we put Uz Fuzz down in the lot by the alley next to Mom and Dad's garage, which had a cat hole cut in the door, so Uz Fuzz could run in and out as he pleased. That cat had a fan club. He never met a stranger. Kids and adults stopped at the fence to visit Uz Fuzz, and Uz Fuzz always gave them his best, prancing and purring for them. When the garage got mice in it, Uz Fuzz never caught the mice, but played with them like toys.
Uz Fuzz was a very sensitive cat, and he got his feelings hurt if he was scolded, even a bit, but he had a mean streak, too. He decided to rough up JoeEd, our big gentle black and white cat, so we had to keep him separate from JoeEd. If Fuzz wasn't ready to come inside from his alley lot play land, he'd growl when we reached for him, and we waited until he came to his gate and stared at the house to let us know he was ready.
Fuzz's very favorite person was Dad. Dad was the one who carried Fuzz back and forth to his lot, hugging him close and talking to his dear big fuzzy cat. My Dad passed away in February 1999, and on the day of Dad's funeral, Uz Fuzz climbed on the roof of the house. I had to get a ladder to get him down, but he never did it again. I wonder if he realized his person was gone.
Gradually, Fuzz adapted to Mom's handling him instead of Dad, an adjustment for both of them. Due to Dad's death, Mom had to sell the town house and move here with me, and Fuzz and the city cat family came here, too.
Time is a gift, but it is a cruel one, as well. The years flew past, and in the last few months, Uz Fuzz lost sight in one of his eyes and began drinking excessive amounts of water. He stopped using his litter box, too, and with his weight loss and excess urination, we realized Fuzz was in kidney failure.
Renal failure is generally treated by subcutaneous hydration―fluid injections. The fluid injected is electrolyte water, and it's wonderfully healing, especially for kidney conditions, though it is not a cure.
So we began sub-fluid treatments on Fuzz. Though thin and ill, that still regal cat sat in Mom's lap and purred while he endured getting a needle stuck in him.
I was so proud of our dear Uz Fuzz.
For several weeks, Uz Fuzz hung on, purring through his shots, but he began to get restless, and his appetite dropped more. Finally, the sub-fluid didn't absorb properly, pooling in his abdomen area, bloating him, and in his back feet. This happens in advanced renal failure.
The fluid retention became serious enough that Uz Fuzz sounded gurgly in his throat. We resorted to using Lasix, a prescription diuretic, to remove the fluid his kidneys could no longer carry away properly. This helped, but not enough. Fuzz stopped eating, then stopped drinking, but this trooper of a cat still clung to us, and I droppered liquid food and water down him. The last full night of his life, he stayed on the bed beside me, despite having a seizure, and when his body temperature dropped, we gave him a warm bath and a heating pad. He spent his last hours on a heating pad, dying in the wee hours of the morning.
I do not really believe in euthanasia. I think it's a pretty word for murder. I have used euthanasia in the past for certain cats and seen it as a kind end. I have also seen the euthanasia shots go horribly wrong while I watched helplessly as my precious cats gasp their last breath in agony. Most of the time, now, I opt to let my cat babes die at home, in love, though I try to take it on a case by case basis.
I will never know how old Uz Fuzz really was―I only know I have lost one of the most awesome cats I've ever had.
I also know I will see my Uz Fuzz again, and that my dear Dad has his beloved Uz Fuzz back with him.
