So many stories. This turned into such an essay. Maybe no one will read this but there’s some catharsis in writing it.

Buddy was my best friend. He found my wife when he was a kitten, probably around seven months old. He followed her to her car on a rainy day a few days before Thanksgiving. His name was “Widow” for probably two or three weeks, my wife told me he was a girl and I just never questioned that. We were watching Elf at the time she discovered her mistake, so that’s where his new name came from.

We talked it over and we thought adding another cat would be a bit much with what our financial situation was (stupid rent increases for adding pets), so I took him to the closest animal shelter. They asked where we found him, I answered honestly and they said nope, we only accept cats found in our town, there’s a fee otherwise. I didn’t know I was supposed to lie about that, my bad.

Our town didn’t have a shelter, but we were told to take him to animal control and he’d be moved to the shelter associated with our city. So I took him there, explained the situation. The first thing I was asked was “Did you feed her”? Yeah, it’s a kitten that was stuck out in the rain in the evening, of course we did. She explained to me (this still makes no sense to me, if anyone has an explanation please chime in) that by default if you feed a cat without an owner you legally become its owner, and that 49 states have reasonable laws to override that default but since Michigan has no laws about feeding strays on the books, I’m the owner. $100 surrender fee to give up a cat we own. Didn’t know I was supposed to lie about that either, my bad.

We gave him to my wife’s sister and her boyfriend and Widow spent that entire night shitting all over their furniture and my sister-in-law demanded we take him back. At this point he’s our cat.

He never pooped on our stuff, but we knew there was an issue. I swear I brought like ten stool samples to the vet over his first year and they all tested no parasites. He was kind of a dumbass and at one point he ate some bristles off our broom and threw them up with a yellow worm-thing coiled around one, I didn’t see it but my wife took a photo. I showed the vet and they gave him parasite meds which solved his issue for good. It’s not something you hear people saying too often, but thank god my cat ate that broom, who knows how long he would have stayed sick for. For the record, if that happens, the recommendation is to put the worm in a baggie filled with water to bring to the vet, as opposed to taking a photo for evidence before trying to get it as far away from you as humanly possible, which seemed like the sensible thing to do at the time.

Before getting him I always pictured cats as graceful animals, but he was so goddamn clumsy. Early on I was playing with him trying to get him to hop into a cardboard box that was not much taller than him. I threw a treat inside, and he looks over the edge of the box to see it and thinks it over. He hops into the box but hits his hind legs on the side of the box and faceplants. Oh my god dude. He jumps back out okay and I’m like let’s try this again. He does the exact same thing a second time, he hits his hind legs and faceplants.

Buddy’s thing was he would sleep like he had just been hit by a car. Our repeated joke was to look at him and say “RIP”. Some examples:

The plastic shelves he’s asleep on in that last photo were stacked above our dresser for extra storage. That was his most frequent sleeping place, it was to the right of my head, but way above. One time I was waking up from a nap and I’m like half-asleep and see him stretched out like a dead animal on the edge and I start thinking “this asshole’s gonna fall”. Then he started sliding off and when he woke up he tried to cling to the edge, but that just pulled the drawers and they fell with him. For an instant I was terrified that they were going crush him but I saw him sprinting out of the room before I really had time to process.

There was a period of time where he was very curious about the world outside the apartment and we would have to prevent him from running out the door. He eventually snuck out at one point when someone came home late and we didn’t pick up on it until morning. Right outside our door was mostly stairways, so I went down the stairs looking for him. I was calling for him walking the stairs and he wasn’t coming like he normally would, it was terrifying. When I got to the cement floor at the very bottom he walks out from the darkness under the stairs and starts screaming at me, face completely covered in cobwebs. He never left home again after that.

Buddy would flail his tail when he was happy, he was the dog I always wanted. He loved being the center of attention and loved hearing his name. He would be passed out dead and I would whisper his name very quietly and his tail would do a single flail.

One time I was getting ready for my day at grad school like any other and I realized I forgot to close my shirt drawer, thought it was odd because I’ve never done that before. Whatever. I come back about nine hours later and he is not at the apartment door to greet me like always, instead it’s my antisocial cat. When I walk into the bedroom she starts pacing around in front of the dresser and my heart sinks into my stomach when I make the connection. There’s something to be said for moments of terror out of concern for someone’s well-being that turn into pure comedy the instant you realize they’re fine, he does a huge stretch and hops out all happy, best sleep of his life. Black cat curled up on black shirts in a black dresser. Later that evening I catch him opening the same drawer with his paw. He had just taught himself a new trick without having the courtesy to notify me about it.

I had long covid and was not doing great, but the pandemic was the really the best time of Buddy’s life. He was so happy that we spent most of our time at home. Our other cat hated it though.

The night before our second wedding anniversary, we were talking about how it was sad we couldn’t take off work to spend the day with each other. The next morning my wife is awake before me and Buddy is in pain in the litterbox, trouble peeing. Drive him to an animal hospital and we have to put him down. It was completely out of the blue. He always liked to be cradled like a baby and he died in my arms that way. We both took the day off to mourn.

RIP Buddy Monster