Author Archives: Eryn

This was Tom, my beautiful, silly, giant cat. He died in my arms this morning. I am absolutely shattered.

We adopted Tom and his sister Murder Girl when they were somewhere between four and six months old. They were the semi-feral kittens of a feral cat, born in a boat parked in a then co-worker’s driveway. Their six other brothers and sisters had found homes pretty quickly, but as these two got older and wilder, their prospects got bleaker. Since apparently I cannot say no to kittens, they came home with me.

Those first few weeks the kittens were little balls of fluffy terror with razor sharp claws. We’d drag them out from under beds or couches – complete with the high-pitched sounds of kitten hisses and growls – and force them to spend time with us. After a lot of time and patience, we had two kittens who loved to play and cuddle.

At first, Tom was the big scared-y cat, but, as he grew into his oversized body, he became much more outgoing than his sister. And Tom grew into a large cat. Topping out at almost 25 pounds, our vets always guessed he was a Maine Coon mix. However, his giant body always seemed unbalanced because, through some weird mix of genetics or lack of nutrition as a developing kitten, he had no tail. In fact, I often described him as having a rabbit body with a slightly too small cat head tacked on.

Tom was a silly cat. He loved to play “tag” throughout the house. He would “chase” me from room to room, trying as hard as he could to jump from couch to chair to table, never touching the floor. If I crouched down for any reason, he couldn’t resist rearing up and grabbing my head or climbing on my shoulders. As he was a love biter, this was always a little scary for me.

I have two favorite stories about Tom to share with you. The first almost ended with a new friend being punched in the face, and the second saw the loss of any dignity Tom pretended to have.

Back when we lived in Florida, my husband and I had met a couple that seemed too good to be true. Annie and Nik were smart, witty, and we all shared many of the same interests. We had had them over a few times, but, because Dale and I have the social graces of isolated chimpanzees, we were still on our best behavior, nervously watching for any cue that this couple had finally realized what geeks we really were. (They are, by the way, two of the best friends we have now.)

Nik and I were both in the kitchen, while my husband Dale and Nik’s wife Annie were in the living room. We were all chatting innocently when someone goosed me: full on hand-on-my-ass goosed me. I whirled around, ready to slap Nik into the next state. He threw up his arms to protect his face and pleaded, “It was the cat!” Sure enough, Tom had reached up and goosed me. We still laugh about the time Tom grabbed my butt and tried to blame it on Nik.

Unfortunately, I was the only witness to this next story. You will have to believe me when I say I have not embellished or exaggerated anything:

Tom loved all the geckos in Florida. I don’t know which he loved to chase more, the twitching tails they left behind or the lizards themselves. It got to the point that a gecko with a full tail was a very rare sight in our yard.

One day I was sitting on the front step, enjoying the day, when Tom chased a gecko out from the palmettos next to the step. Wham! He slammed his front paw down on the poor gecko. The gecko, through some mis-firing of the fight or flight instinct, bit Tom’s toe and refused to let go. Tom flung his paw up and quickly tried to shake off the little lizard, to no avail. I couldn’t help it; I laughed out loud at the whole thing, especially the expression on Tom’s face. Tom took one look at me and decided he was not going to be laughed at any more. He froze and pretended that he was not bothered a bit by the tenacious gecko clamped on his foot. Imagine a giant cat trying so hard to keep that inscrutable sphinx look while a lizard dangled from one up-lifted paw.

As I practically choked on my laughter, Tom realized that strategy wasn’t working. With one giant shake of his paw, he flipped the lizard into the air, and caught it with his mouth. It was an amazing bit of juggling, and I would have been very impressed, if that silly gecko hadn’t decided it wasn’t done fighting. It bit down on Tom’s lip and held on. Tom immediately dropped the lizard, but the lizard didn’t fall to the ground. It hung from Tom’s lip like a particularly large lip ring. In shock, Tom once again froze. The two held that tableau for a moment until Tom finally gave in and shook his head, flinging the lizard across the yard.

That image of Tom, desperately pretending nothing is wrong, while a lizard hangs suspended from his lip, is utterly priceless and never fails to bring a smile to my face.

Although he hated the trip here, Tom loved North Dakota. In the summer, he would spend as much time as possible outdoors, coming in only when he was starving. In the winter, he would divide his time between patrolling the basement for mice and sitting in the window, watching the chickadees flock our homemade birdfeeders.

Sometime in the last few days, Tom started to feel bad. As cats often do, he hid. I found him last night, weak and dehydrated. I brought him to the vet this morning, and, sadly, X-rays showed either an intestinal torsion or blockage. Given his weakened state, there was no way Tom would survive the exploratory surgery needed to find and fix the problem. I chose to euthanize my Tom and held him in my arms until he was gone.

I know it was the right decision, but I already miss him terribly.