Thank You

If there's truly a Rainbow Bridge, then it got Large today.

Chico, the The Large Gray Cat -- the cat of multiple names -- died at 12:55 this afternoon.

He was 15.

He had begun slowing down recently and we had hoped for the best. However, I sort of knew.

But let's not focus on the tears, which have flowed freely today, like the water that went into his bowl marked with "Kitty" on it.

My sister was getting ready to move in Oct 2016 and I went to her place in Fairfield, thinking I was only picking up a lawn mower. It was a warm day and I had jeans on, and I realized she still had a ways to go on packing.

So, we helped out. I drove things to various places and packed this and that, getting sufficiently drenched as the afternoon headed towards evening.

At one point, as things were progressing, I glanced at a table and took in the sight of a gray cat.

"Um...what's happening with this?"

As my sister didn't have a place lined up yet, there was just one answer: bring him home with me.

Temporarily.

Yeah, right.

So, the rest of the crew finished a long, arduous day and decided to get dinner. By then, Chico was packed into a cat kennel. I couldn't justify letting him sit there much longer, so I drove my mother to dinner with everyone else, said my goodbyes and went back to my sisters. The car was loaded up, save for one spot for the carrier.

He cried for the entire drive. I tried to let him roam around the car and he wasn't interested. Around Pound Ridge, I began to smell something. Indeed, although the warm October day had given way to a chilly night, I drove the rest of the way with the windows down.

Way down.

He came here and hid behind the couch and anywhere else at first as many cats do. He eventually got comfortable here and my sister also found a place of her own.

Chico stayed behind.

One day, I heard a strange noise in my room. While I had been feeding him and keeping an eye on him and trying help him groom and doing all the things of a pet owner, he had mostly stayed away.

That strange noise was Chico's paws as he came into visit and, for the most part, he never left.

Damn. I wasn't going to get close to him and that's exactly what happened. So we became partners in crime. The nicknames grew, along with the selfies, petting, laughing, long talks (me, not him), and his endless patience with all of the nonsense that Sean and I subjected him to.

The matted fur on his hind end was brushed, combed, "furminated," and even cut. We made that fur rich and luxurious!

But that's about the closest he'd ever get at lashing out, letting a hiss fly if I'd taken it too far.

Mr. Tough Guy. Ha.

The normal breakfast scene

He was loved, and I'm not going to say he never had it better in his life but he certainly had it good. Jump on the table and keep me company while I was eating breakfast? Sure, why not!

Treats? Pick a flavor! Cousin Stephanie would always come by with goodies.

He had the run of the place. Pick a bed. Any bed. It was his world. Not every cat gets that luxury.

He was Large and in charge. He was Cheekies and Chunkies and Cheeks and Sir Chunks-a-Lot and Nush (rhymes with "push") and Nushiel and Bubba and Bear and just "Sir."

And, this week, he became "Puffy," as I noticed his face had swollen.

He had also gone back to laying behind the couch.

That's when I called the vet.

Last night, after baseball, I fed him a little bit of a Delectables squeeze up just to get him to eat something.

I also cradled him in my arms like a baby. Normally he'd run after a minute or so of that.

Not this time. It was like we both knew that it was time.

A week or so back, while sad and hating life, I tried to give him a rallying speech. "You can't leave yet. We have more to do together. You need to keep me company while we get through this."

His face told me otherwise. I sometimes pondered telling him it was OK to go, but I didn't want to give up.

Today, after discussing things with the fabulous South Putnam Animal Hospital, I let go.

I was with him. We spent some time alone and I told him to find Bandit and Fred and Roxy and Harry and Rosie and Junior and Scrappy and the countless other furry friends who would take good care of him.

I told him my dad would treat him well, even if had to fight to get on his lap.

Then, I just said, "Thank you." Not just for me, but for an entire family full of people whose lives he enriched and for a radio/Facebook audience who he entertained by strolling by the camera occasionally.

And for the audience of people who loved his pictures on social media.

And I kept repeating it, making sure it was the last thing he heard.

Our good-natured Large friend is gone.

We're heartbroken.

But, as always, grateful.

Sean, through rare tears for him, told me that he thought I hit the nail on the head once, saying that Chico was "America's Cat," just as Roxy was "America's Dog." Nobody had a bad thing to say about him.

Chico was Laura's and Ryan's and Meaghan's and Sean's and mine and, well, everyone's.

I had Bandit for 17 years and Fred for 11.

I had Chico here for not quite four years and his impact is just as strong and the pain is just as real.

Maybe his years here were great, but he brought us just as much and even more.

He was my confidante and soulmate through many a trying time and laugh and triumph.

Thank you, Cheeks. I have no words to say how much I'll miss you, my friend.

Thank you, South Putnam Animal Hospital