The company of Akroyd

Barely three days passed since Percy passed, and the cat rescue where I volunteered brought in nearly 30 cats. Among them was a little long-haired white and black cat with a wonky eye and a major bite wound on his neck, probably from a dog or coyote. He looked so beaten down 

I had seen cats recover from worse. I had to do something for him, whether spending extra time in the rescue, fostering, donation or possibly adoption. Whatever grief I carried for Percy, I could soothe it by helping Akroyd. 

When I arrived for my shift, he sat in the Isolation Room, where the sanctuary keeps cats with medical conditions or who require observation. A small eye wound that makes his right eye appear as if he’s always arching an eyebrow. He was sweet in ways I could not imagine. He only wanted to sit in my lap – all the time. I had thoughts on adopting him but needed to know how he would adjust. 

I had barely cleaned up since Percy died. That also meant the house was already set up for a cat – towers in the windows, plants to hide behind, litter box hidden in plain sight. So I decided to foster him, get out of that little room. 

After a calm ride home, he bounded out of the carrier and right into a scratch house to hide, before finding his way under the bed (reasonable) and squeezing under the couch (a tight fit but hew undoubtedly was accustomed to escaping predators in Roswell. I see the behaviors of a cat who fought to survive in the wild, hiding like he would beneath a fence, a dumpster or some other hiding spot. 

His sweet nature helped him come around. He could be coaxed from his hiding spots within a few days. He took to sleeping on top of me. I started sleeping on the couch because he wouldn’t sleep in the bed. He always stayed about three inches from my face. 

Akroyd Boy. Little Loaf. Sweet Little Boy. My Favorite Stinky Fellow. Danny. Poor Sweet Boy. Little Love Bug. I’ve always found talkative cats entrancing. As a younger person, I had no idea they made such a range of sounds, and that meows and several others were reserved just for gaining human attention. Akroyd has a long list. But the trills stick with me the most. 

“Braum? Braum? Butter rum? Brown? Brown? Brick? Broom? Broom?” Variations on these were his way of earning attention and getting another meal. They were wonderful noises. He liked me to stay nearby when he ate. 

Happy to see me and my lap

Percy produced all manner of noises both pleasant and threatening. I never heard Akroyd hiss, growl or rumble in any unhappy way. If anything his meows grow urgent only for food or wanting to go outside. 

We tried outside once – he bounded across some icy snow, aiming for a spot in the fence where he only could fit through. We didn’t try again. Sometimes he cried for food, but never acted out. He only pawed to remind me he needed to sit on my lap . He likes me to nuzzle his forehead with my nose. His fur sometimes gave off hunts of outdoor scents, but I let him have it, since it seems to bring pleasure. 

I felt a tinge of excitement when I saw he discovered cats trees for watching the outdoors, or when he would conclude a meal by grooming. I got to see a cat who was not thriving in a small room at the rescue explore an entire house. In turn, he adjusted fine, taking to the comforts of indoor living as I expected such an affable cat could. 

Last day in the house

After about five weeks, I conceded the loss of Percy still hurt and I decided it was too soon to adopt. Unfortunately, there was no way to tell Akroyd that. I felt Akroyd should go to a home not mourning a previous pet. His love bug demeanor meant he would have no trouble settling in elsewhere.

As hard as it was, I took him back to the rescue. he darted out of the carrier and began exploring, watching birds from the rescue's front windows. I had hope. There were applications filed for him. 

Two days later, he received a ringworm diagnosis. Five weeks of treatment iced my hopes of a quick adoption. Just like that, he was back in the little room. I felt like a heel, taking the house away from him. Other volunteers told me I was being too hard on myself. Of course I was, but I wasn't wrong either.

Once the ringworm disappeared, he seemed to brighten, his fur shinier, his eyes sharp. Another application came in. 

But Akroyd's healthy days never lasted. Every time he seemed to take a step forward, his health slipped again. Every time I visited him on sanctuary shifts, he showed me the same affection he did during our foster days. There were no hard feelings – he just wanted pets and if you had time, a lap to sit on.

Big yawn

His face became a mess. I washed his face on my shifts. He was not grooming. Clearly something bigger was wrong. He was scheduled for another round of dental treatment. 

One of the sanctuary staff told me he wasn’t doing well. He could not eat well because of his mouth. We discussed that like most cats, Akroyd had hidden his health issues – the poor fellow was much sicker than any of us realized, in part because he was always pleasant. 

The older I get, the more I have an instinct for death’s approach. The entire week I dreaded the news from the rescue. I stalked the rescue’s Slack channels for any word of his health, fully expecting the worst. A volunteer told me she heard he was doing better. 

Before my Monday shift, before the news went out, the sanctuary manager personally broke the news to me. 

All those mouth troubles were not caused by his teeth, but aggressive cancer. With his FIV-weakened immune system, he was defenseless. An operation would have left him with poor quality of life, so they made the tough call to euthanized Akroyd. Since I had a relationship with him, they let me move his rescue bio to the little shelf that serves as a memorial for rescue cats that pass on. 

Somehow I worked through my volunteer shift. I drove home and stayed in the car, where I cried for a long time. 

I had Percy for 15 years. I knew Akroyd for four months, one of which he spent at my house. How I could compare those situations?

Akroyd’s sweetness made it possible. Despite a dog bite, FIV+, fevers, injection, ringworm and finally cancer, this poor cat never lost his loving demeanor. Not once did he swipe. He was unfailingly in his friendliness or providing the company I needed. That’s the lesson I took from Akroyd – stay sweet, stay gentle even if the world throws everything unfair and ugly it can at you. 

I’d like to think the last four months of Akroyd’s life might have been his best – people loving on him, trying to restore his health. If healthy, he would have been adopted quickly. But that little body had gone through too many wounds and illnesses. Enjoy your painless rest, Akroyd. 

Everyone who knew you will miss you, Sweet Little Boy. 

Wherever you are, how I hope you look.