A letter to Percy

"I sat down and wrote the best words I could write,
Turn, turn, turn again"
- Bob Dylan, Percy’s Song 

Well friend, our journey together has ended. 

This is not how I wanted it, a sudden visit to the vet, you scared and agitated after a day of poking and prodding. I figured you might have had some digestive issues, not rapid weight loss, hyperthyroidism and swelling in your chest that made breathing hard. 

When the vet offered apologies for the best decision, I believed her. With your months of suffering laid bare, I had no choice. Only the rarest of lives conclude in a peaceful, easy fashion. Maybe you were ready - in 15 years, this marked the only car trip to the vet in which you made almost no noise.

Your persistence gave us your name, Percy, which always sent your tail swooshing when you lied there with your eyes closed (I knew you weren’t sleeping). Even in those last minutes, you still responded to your name, scared as you were. 

Across 15 years, you had many names. Percy. Person. Percy Lannister. The Percynator. Percival C. Motherfucker. The Coin Purse. Mister Fluff. Herr Fluff. Mr. Onionhead. Just plain Buddy. There are others I have forgotten. All those nicknames added up to you, even if your sum was that much greater. 

What started in a few tenuous weeks in October 2006, when you were a hurricane of claws and unending energy, would eventually encompass three time zones , many more backyards and many eras of my own life. 

The house has grown so quiet in your short absence. I get caught off-guard by noises that resemble you jumping down from your sleeping spots or scratching at the door to go outside in your yard. I have put up your dishes, mothballed your litter box, wrapped up the Percy spoons (yes, he had his own spoons) and let the wind take the catmint I dried for you.

Your love of the outdoors saw you thrashed by a dog, stressed by outdoor cats, a killer of many birds, mice and rabbits into your old age. In spring 2021, you stalked those bunnies for months before you finally got one, pawing at the porch door, eager to show off your handiwork. You killed a mouse one week before the last vet visit - that hardly seemed the act of a cat suffering as much as you were. 

You were always feisty, always ready with a cat voice and a paw to slash at an unsuspecting hand. But in the end, could anyone but an oddfellow like me have contended with you all these years? 

When I moved to Nashville, a friend suggested the move could be a way to give you up - I never seriously considered that. Pet ownership is a lifelong commitment.

When we moved to Colorado Springs, no one even asked. Part of my decision to work remotely was knowing I could be around in your senior years, not spending half my day in traffic. You could venture out anytime you like - in the warmer months, you did. Sometimes you only came inside to eat, spending 20 hours a day on the patio.

Even when you got feisty and attacked, I never held it against you. In the end, I think you trusted me, as much as a cat can trust.

All who encountered you will remember you. That is the best legacy for a cat with a personality as large as yours. 

Sleep well, Person …. I mean, Percy.