Earth Angel

Angel died today.

I wrote that sentence two weeks ago.  I had no follow up.

Angel is a cat we "fostered." And I'm using quotations for a reason.  One day after work, Larry said his co-worker needed to borrow our cat carrier.  Her grandmother was no longer able to take care of her 12 year old cat, and said cat was going to be taken to a shelter.

My heart bled immediately, all over; ask me about the stains in our car later when I'm done writing this blog. Good thing it was stolen.  I preached to him about Angel's immanent, pitiful death from my pulpit 9 inches away from the driver's seat.  He agreed that we could "foster" him, knowing full well that if I fell in love (also an 80% chance), he wasn't going to be just fostered by any means.  (And knowing deep down inside, that he would prefer that, too.)

We picked him up a few days later.  There was a struggle.  Most of you know what cats are, so I don't feel like detail is necessary here.  We took him to the vet, he took it like a champ, vet said he looked pretty awesome for a 12 year old cat, clipped his velociraptor talons, we brought him home yadda yadda yadda, he met our other two cats and one rabbit, it was smooth, he was so so so so so so very sweet, I fell in love yadda.

I have many pictures of him being hilarious.  If you don't have pets, or hate them or just hate cats, then get off my lawn, because you won't care about this blog, anyway.  His personality shined through immediately, like that old man who doesn't care if you have to clean his vomit up off your rug every other day.  Or the more literal description about the old cat you have.  He loved it when I knitted, and tried sticking his whole face in my yarn skein when I wasn't paying attention.  He was pretty irresistible to us, and to our company.  We still tried to push him off on our friends and family because frankly?  3 cats and a rabbit?  Entirely too many things that eat, shit and shed in your house.

Finally, my cousin Katie, (who already had a kitten named Spike and a gerbil named Buffy so, duh) said her family would take him.  We brought him to Thanksgiving and he made friends within minutes with the person I was most worried about him loving (not that she is not also wonderful and hilarious; it is just that she's 6...and wonderful and hilarious).  Katie and I were so happy with the transition.  He's the best.

After Christmas, Katie called to tell me he wouldn't eat at all.  She had tried everything.  Anything.  So she took him to the vet.  He stayed over the weekend, and the vet was optimistic that he would be fine.

He wasn't.  That Monday Katie called me in tears. Angel had lymphoma, and even if they could get him to eat with drugs, he couldn't last more than a week or two.  God, I felt awful.  Like, hi, hey, watch this adorable sweet thing that your kids love, die right in front of you, yay!  And, God.  I felt awful.  I loved him.

The vet's office called me after he had been put down.  They said they were sending Katie a keepsake, and they would happily send me one, too.  I readily agreed, in mucusy, blubbery tears that embarrass  me.  She said the keepsake was a plaque....and a lock of Angel's hair.

I was sick with a cold that day (which really leads me to give credibility to the whole E.T./Elliot thing!) so I laughed until I was coughing so hard, the receptionist on the phone had to wait until I was composed.  Those of you with furry mammals know why I was laughing.  Those of you who don't, don't come over to my house because you are deathly allergic.  I have tons of his hair.  Even months after he left.  So...Thank you?

I like to think that we covered everything that may have been on his bucket list.  I gave him a little of everything I was eating, so:

(1) Eat several different kinds of cheeses.  Check
(2) Look adorable enough to get some chicken wings.  Check
(3) See how that works when steak is on the table.  Freaking ChecK

(4) Experiment with catnip.

(5) Conspire for hours about how to to infiltrate the tank filled with water and chock full of delicious looking fish.
(6) Hear a white American 6 year old attempt speaking Spanish to try to find me ("Angel!  Como estas?!")  Check Check.

The list goes on and was fulfilled.  I miss him, you guys.  The keepsake came in the mail, and I laughed at it while tears filled my eyes.  I knew him for a stupid year.  (When Scout shuffles off this mortal coil, I will have to take a couple days off from work, and please come over; we are getting drunk at my house on a Tuesday.)