Alexander Sebastian

We had Angel for about a year before deciding that he needed a friend. Matt had been to the adoption center in Petsmart and wanted me to see a kitten that resembled Angel. I did, but didn't click with him, or any of the other cats I saw.

But I noticed an empty, open cage, and the volunteer explained that each cat had time out of their cages, but Cedric was terribly timid, and spent his turn hiding under the stacks of cages. I got on my hands and knees and peered under there and saw two enormous green eyes peering out of a ginger and white head. I reached my hand to him, and he sniffed, nuzzled, then hit me with a forceful head-butt. And just like that, I found my baby.

To let him get used to us and his new home before introducing him to his new brother, we shut our baby in our bedroom with food, water and a litter box. But he had other plans in mind... as soon as we let him out of his cage, he dashed under the bed and there he stayed.

For three days.

I spend a lot of time on the floor those three days: laying where he could see me, talking to him, petting him, trying to encourage him to come out of his shell. On the third day, we left the bedroom door open. While in the living room watching TV, we heard Angel make the craziest, guttural growl ever heard. And when we looked up, we saw our green-eyed, pink-nosed, long-limbed, ginger and white baby cautiously round the corner. He was ready to join his new family.

We didn't like the name "Cedric" for our new baby. We wanted a name that suited him, that might give him some of the courage he seemed to lack. We flipped through baby name books, debated during meals, and finally agreed on something. Alexander Sebastian. Defender of the people. Venerable. Our baby.

Of course, Alex went by a dozen different names. The Baby. Booger Boy. Bunny. Dopey. Face. Fuzzy. Ginger-chin. Gingersnap. Oaf. Pathetic. Pest. Pigeon. Pink-Nosed Bunny Boy. Punam. Stupid. We called him Pigeon because when he purred, it sounded less like a motor and more like a pigeon's coo. It melted my heart every time. And his meow! I've never heard something so high pitched. Sometimes, he'd strain so hard to make himself heard that he'd shudder with the effort, open his mouth, and nothing would come out.

As he became more confident, he became more outgoing. He'd greet new people, demand their love, head-butt them affectionately. If you could read his thoughts, he was probably thinking, Hi! My name is Alex! I love you!

Quite the mischievous boy, he'd chew on pretty much anything left in the open. Shoes. Handbags. Pens. Ribbons. Boxes. Tissue paper was a favorite. He loved to lay on his back with his legs splayed open; we'd laugh and call him vulgar. He tore up at ate the carpet on his scratching post, screamed for tuna juice, ran off with my yarn, sat on my homework, picked fights with his brother, interrupted anyone who was getting attention. He didn't believe in idle hands; hands should be busy loving him.

He loved the laser pointer, and would jump to attention whenever he heard us pick it up. While Angel was a stalker, he's guilelessly chase it all over the place. We'd shine it on the ceiling and he'd get on his back legs and reeeeeeach for it, long fat tummy exposed to the world.

And yet, he was the laziest thing ever, napping constantly. In the kitty tree, on the sofa, on the recliners, on the dining room table, in a sunny spot on the floor, on the bed, in my closet, in the guest room, in boxes... wherever he had room, he had a napping spot.

While I always had a special connection with Angel, Alex was always more demanding of our attention. He was at the foot of the bed when I woke up, he was at the door when I got home, he was on my lap every time I sat down. The opposite of the elegant, graceful feline, Alex was a klutzy, dopey guy. He'd walk across you and it felt like each step carried his entire weight. And he was restless on laps, walking in circles, laying down, stomping around some more. Sometimes, I'd get frustrated and Matt would tell me to make him get down. But I never had the heart to.

The mornings was Angel's time with mom; the evenings was Alex's time. When I got in bed, he would lay across my chest and stomach, pink nose in my face, pushing away books and magazines to get petted and loved. Then he'd stomp around the pillows, putting his butt in Matt's face, head-butting our heads so much it would hurt. Loving us so much, it hurt.

The weekend after Christmas, Alex threw up a few times. Matt had given him leftover turkey and he always had a sensitive stomach, so we didn't think much of it. By the third day, he hadn't gotten better, had become lethargic, seemed to be limping, and was hiding. We made an appointment with his vet at Falls Road Animal Hospital. An x-ray showed one atrophied kidney and one enlarged one. They said it could be something as benign as an infection and as serious as cancer. They gave him some fluids and put him on an oral antibiotic.

Back home, he didn't have the energy to fight me when being forced his antibiotics, and didn't run off when we were done. So I sat with him, stroked him, told him he was a good boy, assured him he'd be okay. There were no head-butts, no nuzzles when I put my finger in front of his nose. He didn't get in bed with us that night; I put a pillow on the floor and laid with him until he went off to hide in my closet.

New Year's Day, he vomited blood and had bloody stool. We rushed him back to Falls Road. He didn't protest.

I expressed my concern about the care he had received the day before, how the vet gave oral meds when he couldn't keep anything down, and should've kept him there for better care and observation. They agreed he needed to stay overnight; he had an ultrasound scheduled for the next day, and in the meantime, they could keep an eye on him, and keep some fluids in him. I told him I wanted him to be good and get better, hugged him, kissed him, held him. I almost cried when I put my finger in front of him and got one more weak nuzzle.

Friday afternoon at work, I spend a good deal of time on the phone with his vet, raising my concerns about his treatment, then repeating them to Dr. Kim Hammond, the CEO. They assured me they'd get his ultrasound as soon as possible. A coworker told me I should go there and lean on them. But I didn't. They called at 4pm to let me know they were running late due to an emergency. Then they called around 5:30, saying he was fading.

I rushed to the vet, begging that he hold on until I get there. But he didn't. I didn't listen to the advice of my friend, and he died without me there to hold him. I have a hard time accepting that he's gone. And I can't forgive myself for not being there.

Alex must have been the feline version of my Granddad: he lived honestly, loved purely, died rapidly. He left a hole in the hearts who loved him. He was thoroughly good. Unique. Irreplaceable. Missed. And loved.