I Don’t Have To Like You
The blizzard came on Wednesday, and I lost a very close friend and partner in it. It’s no surprise because we became friends during a hurricane almost a decade ago. We didn’t like each other at first and weren’t even close to getting along. I guess being booted out by your landlord along with your sibling will do that to you. With him, I felt it was a sense of trust that had been broken in the early going. So, I was no help in trying to comfort the situation despite my efforts. I tried all the little things to make his stay a bit more worthwhile, but to no avail. It took the flooding and power outages of Hurricane Floyd in September of 1999 to change everything. We bonded. We understood that day that we needed each other whether we got along or not. His name was Opus. He had only been here a month or so before the hurricane along with his sister who we have written about here. She moved right in with very little difficulties and clearly made herself at home. Meanwhile, Opus sat at the top of the steps waiting for his former master. This killed me. I tried to give treats and toys. This meant nothing. I tried petting him and being affectionate only to have him run to the other side of the room and clean my scent off of his body. But as the storm came along with those ghoulish, howling winds, so did Opus. He found his way near me as the power went out. It was from that moment on we clicked. It took 8 hours of darkness and candles to see that I wasn’t such a bad guy. He knocked the wall down and realized I wasn’t out for any malicious gain. So, we learned to live with each other. We made a compromise. We made a silent deal…that expanded and was renegotiated in time.
A Temporary Home
When I was approached at my job about friend who needed a new home for her cats, I was apprehensive at first. As she explained her situation, it seemed as if the person she was about to marry despised cats and would have probably stuck the needle in them himself if it all possible. So the more I heard this story my instant reaction was, “I’ll take the cats and I will find them a home eventually.” I felt if this person would be this quick to discard them, at least let me find somewhere where they would be loved as equals. So my thinking was: look, I’m single, no kids, and no girlfriend. I will hold these cats till I find a place for them so in the mean time, I'll have a roof for them. The female was orange and white and named Silly. She was the personality and the most vocal. When I took them in, Silly was already 13. Opus was going on 7. Opus was very long. At black and white in color and a matching black nose, Opus stood as tall as a 4 year old when he was on hind legs. He also had weight to him for being so tall. So in essence, if Opus was human, he would stand about probably 6’ 4” with the personality to match. He wasn’t his sister at all. Opus was very curious and quiet. And even when we had our hurricane Floyd bonding moment, he kept his distance yet only to a minimum. I started to learn his mannerisms and his way of doing things…sometimes a bit more abrupt than I wanted. The first instance was very easy to remember. I went to take a shower and as the water began to pump out of the shower head, Opus climbed into the shower with me. We both kind of looked at each other in shock. His thinking was along the lines of, “What? I always do this”. I on the other hand didn’t know whether to jump out of the shower and turn the water off, or allow a dog sized cat to join me in lathering up. Aren’t cats supposed to hate water? I remember the previous owner telling me with a smirk that Opus loved water. Ok. But I didn’t realize he wanted to be doused in it. He didn’t seem to care about the water’s volume, either. So we had to come to a compromise. I shower first and when I am done, you have total free reign to do whatever you want in there but NOT while I am showering. I reciprocated by waiting till he was done drinking from the spout and getting his body wet before starting my day. Water would still present problems down the road for Opus. His obsession would cause some housing problems. But this would just be one of many little quirks I would come to learn.
Opus The Barbarian
After the first 2 years of having these 2 cats, the thought that eventually I would have to find a home for them disappeared. They both became a part of my life. The female cat was often unwell and had many obstacles keeping her from having a fruitful life. She was anemic, had irritable bowel syndrome, had shaky sugar levels, was slightly overweight, had liver issues, had a heart murmur, and suffered from allergies. Not to mention she struggled with arthritis. You could hear it as she walked. Opus? Not a thing was wrong with him. He liked to take a dump and not bury it. And trust me; you knew when he went to the bathroom. It was like elephant tranquilizers. I mean when this cat urinated it sounded like someone running a hose into a plastic box. He ate like an ox. If it came in a can, he wanted it. It could have been canned poop and he would have begged for seconds. In his early years, I used to allow him and his sister to go outside on the front step to soak up the sun. Silly loved it. Opus on the other hand, would begin to ‘wander’. Wander to the point where I couldn’t find him. He would be trying to climb a tree to get to a squirrel. His arm length was impressive for he was able to grab them a few times but luckily no front claws..and they always got away. He loved the bushes. He was convinced there were treats in them. He’d scour them and watch. Even neighboring cats caught his interest. He would charge full steam at them outside only to stop just before pouncing to smell them. The other cats would hiss at him, but he never had that response. He just would look at them with blinking eyes and turn around and walk back to me. He had no front claws to begin with so each time he’d pull this stunt I obviously became worried. He’s playing. They aren’t. Grass was his thing. LOVED grass. He’d eat it, throw it up, and then ask for more. I would let him out for small intervals to eat some, even rebelling against the neighboring cat birds that lived in the tree near my house and undoubtedly owned the turf. He’d eat as they swooped down on him. He had no interest in them, but they didn’t understand that. All they knew was he was on their turf. Opus came to love being outside with his favorite place being the porch out back that overlooks the street. To him it was ‘the great unknown’. He would stare for hours and watch cars, cats, squirrels, people, pollen, bees, wasps, birds, leaves and anything that even slightly moved. Opus was sharp and quick. I used to find stink bugs and other smaller bugs crushed to death and knew every time who the culprit was. It wasn’t Silly’s thing, it was Opus’s thing. Again, he was very curious. He watched you. Never said much, but he would watch you. He studied your reactions to things. He knew just what not to do, and what TO do without it being annoying. Sadly, I wasn’t catching on to these things till much later. One day I was cleaning around the apartment and was getting material ready for the radio show. My cell phone rings. It’s my 70 year old neighbor next door on the second floor asking me to come get my cat. I asked her if she was dialing the right number. She responded with, “You have a black and white cat, correct?”. “Yes, Opus…why?” I started looking around my apartment at this point. “Yes,” she said, “Your cat jumped from your porch onto mine, then came in my apartment and started walking around.” I was furious. I ran downstairs and she chuckled about it the whole time. Opus the Barbarian was now torturing my neighbors. That means screen doors had to be closed, and I had to ‘supervise’ him when I would go outside. He found ways into things….cabinets, bread bins, shelves, and other nooks. I understand that this is normal for cats. But when your cat has the length of a 4 year old kid and almost the weight to match, it makes it a little tough to sleep on small spaces that normal cats can. Poor Opus never understood that. He’d fall off the window sill, bed pillows, laps, chairs, counters, and numerous other things. And during this whole process, it would be interrupted by trips to the bathroom tub. The tub became a full fledged institution for Opus. He insisted that somehow, someway, that water be left on. Of course I didn’t know that at the time that on top of him wanting to be in the shower with me, that I had to leave the spout running once I was done so he’d be happy. His wailing and wailing would continue till I figured it out. Then it all made sense.
Opus The Aquarian
One day Opus was ticked off. The township must have been doing a backwash on the water system that was affecting the pressure of the water. So the drip I had set for him before work apparently stopped. Now keep in mind, Opus had 3 bowls of fresh water around the house. This wasn’t good enough. So in his frustration, he decided to jump up on the bathroom sink and turn the water on which he knew how to do very easily. Remember, he watched and learned. So as I sat in my office, my cell phone rang. It was the sweet, old couple that lived downstairs from me. “Hi Tom, its George from downstairs. I just wanted to let you know that I think you left your tub running or something.” I was sure I didn’t. But he explained to me on the phone that water was forming in big bubbles on the ceiling of their bathroom. I figured a pipe must have gone. I left work and flew home 10 minutes away. I walked in to find Opus hiding under the speaker stand next to the bathroom with a tail the size of a raccoon’s, and water running along the floor into the hallway. What had happened was, Opus turned the faucet on and it ran so hard that it closed the drain. But unbeknownst to me or Opus, the reservoir that keeps it from overflowing was blocked. So, water ran until it flooded the floors with no way for him to understand how to turn it off, obviously. As Opus came to realize, turning it on is the easy part. It was a memory that wasn’t pleasant at the time, but in hindsight was one of the most memorable. Opus would drink so much water that I had a friend who was a vet, look at him. She explained he had no real issues and wasn’t diabetic. He just LOVED water. Some cats do. It’s their obsession. And fresh water from a tap is something they know is the real deal. Opus drank so much water and visited the tub so much that his black head started to turn red from the fluoride and chlorine in the water. It was quite amazing to see the color change. It was ‘bleached’. After a while he used to use it to his advantage. He knew it drew attention to him. Especially from women. So he gladly would get wet, come and show you, then find me and shake it all off on me like a dog. It got to be a running joke, literally. I’d try to avoid him if he got out of the tub wet because he wanted to shake it on me. I won this race rarely. What comes with a lot of water drinking is a lot of pissing. Which means in turn, lots of litter. The litter was for him, mainly. Not for the fact he didn’t bury anything, but the more litter in the dirt box, the more absorption. If not, the smell would hit you instantly or it would become mud. But here’s the thing, he drank so much that his piss didn’t really smell like typical cat pee. He drank so much that it was more like water. But still, he had no health issues because of it. But it didn’t end at tubs, sinks, and faucets. I’d jump out of sleep to the sound of glasses I had full of water for myself running down the coffee table, and a puffy tailed cat looking at me as if to say, “You aren’t mad, are you?”
Addition By Subtraction
In the spring of 2006, his female counterpart had left us sadly. When I came home to find that she had just passed, Opus stood beside her. It was almost like he knew she was gone. He even at one point laid down next to her lifeless body. His playmate that he loved to dominate because of his size was no more. This would be the beginning of a new relationship. A relationship that I had no idea would blossom from this sad, sad loss. It was the day that began ‘our’ friendship. He knew something wasn’t right once she was gone, and he could see by my actions that he needed to somehow comfort me, and I, him. He stood next to me a lot during this time, a habit that continued for quite a few years. He didn’t just stand next to me, he leaned in. He needed the physical contact. He was alone and so was I. Silly was our balance. For as sick as she was for most of her life, she provided the perfect chemistry for the three of us to live together. Despite the contrasts, she made everything equal. Now with it just being him and I, things changed. Before I knew it, Opus started communicating with me on a vocal level. I mean, he had in the past, but now, with it just being him and I, it became an everyday part of our relationship. But it was OUR relationship…it was OUR thing. When others would come over, he maintained his silence. It was astonishing how he would change it on a dime. In Silly’s sad absence, he would now sleep next to me. He would be the one to greet me in the morning. He would be the one to show me that the alarm was something of nuisance but knew that when it made noise, it was time for me to get up. Silly used to mumble to herself, lick your face and grunt to make sure you got up. Not Opus. He tapped your face. He walked on you. Not the type of walk when they are walking so tenderly and gingerly to not cause a ruckus 'so he could rest on you' kind of walk…but the kind of walk that he put every pound per square inch of pressure on you. Basically letting you know, “DUDE, GET UP”. It was quite comical. He had many different tactics on waking me up. One of his favorites was getting soaked, then coming out to the living room, jumping up on the couch, and then leaning his head over me just enough to where his wet nose would just skim my ear. This wasn’t a one time deal either. He knew it drove me nuts, so in his eyes, this is the best way to get daddy up. At one point, no one believed me that he would do this. So that’s when my Blackberry came in handy. I snapped photos left and right. As a matter of fact, in time I took hundreds more photos of him than I ever did of her. Video, even! Like anything else, the closer we got as it was just him and I, the more he felt he had to be a part of everything. He only did this because unconsciously I treated him like an equal. If I went outside out front, he had to go outside. If I went on the back porch, he deserved the right to be out there too. If I ate, he ate. If opened a can of tuna to eat, he had to have some. If I laid down in the room, he had to have some part of the bed to rest and the view to watch me. If I was fixing stuff, he had to be there to supervise. If I worked on the radio show, he had to be on my lap or on my feet. Even during my ‘intimate’ moments, Opus found a way to either watch from a distance and freak me out, or made sure that he took the biggest dump in the world so I would have to stop what I was doing and take it out. Remember, Opus was like the size of a bobcat. Opus owned and dominated more things in my life than I imagined. And I let him.
Best Laid Plans
The routines were quite simple. You could set your watch by them. Monday through Friday’s schedule went like this:
-----8:00am to 10am- Bask in the sun till the alarm goes off. Then walk on daddy until he gets mad and wakes up. If that doesn’t work, get wet and drip on him…better yet, drink out of his water glass. That works.
----10am-12pm- Take as much time in the tub as possible before dad gets in there. If boredom sets in, ask dad to open the screen door so he could go enjoy the big bright light of the ‘great unknown’.
----12:00pm – Make daddy feel guilty for leaving by staring at him
----12:05pm -10pm- The time he had on his own to surf the web, wear funny hats, play poker, crank call people, and buy stuff off the home shopping network.
----10pm-11pm- As daddy gets home, wait at the top of the steps or the window sill so you can watch him pull up and give him the business. Usually fed by 9:30, this usually contained Sea Captain’s Choice, Ocean Whitefish, Turkey And Giblets, or Beef and Liver. It has to be Pâté, or else he just won’t eat it. Won’t interest him if it’s in gravy. He hates it. After eating a nice chunk, he will venture to the bathroom tub to drink from the spout and get his head wet.
----11pm-12am- Repeat the previous entry at least 3x. Walk back into the kitchen, eat more from the bowl, walk back to the bathroom, drink, get wet, walk over to daddy at his computer and wipe your dirty teeth from your dinner on his pants. (I used to think this was Opus being affectionate. It’s not. He’s cleaning his mouth.) Then walk back to the bathroom, get wet, come out, go into the dirt box, take a piss or a crap, walk back out, and stare out the back door.
12-2am- Nap time at dad’s feet, or on top of the bed facing dad as he works on his PC.
2am-3am- Start tapping daddy to come to bed and shut the lights out. Climb even. Despite not knowing your own size and strength. Repeat 5x
3am-3:30- Follow daddy to the living room and take your spot on the recliner.
The Weekend schedule went like this:
(SAT + SUN) 8am-12:00pm- Try your hardest to somehow some way, wake Dad up. This means spilling water, taking a dump, knocking stuff off the bureau, walking really hard on you etc.
12pm-2pm- While dad works on the PC, you can nap. (my revenge is a dish best served cold)
2pm-3:45pm- Its tapping time. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap "WHAT OPUS?"...... “Hi”
4:00pm- Dinner time. This is where you could literally set your watch. He will let you know by body movements that he is hungry at exactly 4pm on the weekends. He gets what I call ‘pointy face’. This means he is smiling. The skin under his nose forms a triangle. That’s how we knew he was smiling. This reaction was realized while getting treats, catnip, or getting fed. It became infectious.
5-8PM- His time. Leave him alone as he wanders around the house and either naps or watches the NFL network. .
Then upon returning from my radio show, he would be at his peak in energy. Running from room to room, yapping, purring, getting wet repeatedly, talking up a storm and begging for more food on top of the food he already got.
Life was simple and routine.
I Know What I Like
Opus loved Tuna. Straight up. Raw, canned, cooked, seared, didn’t matter. "Tuna? I want some." Opus was obsessed with his fishing line with a piece of burlap at the end. He spoke in tounges when it was visible. He loved exploring closets that were usually closed up. Climbing like a mountain lion on National Geographic. He loved the back porch and the dead plant leaves that surrounded it. Crunchin' em like Doritos. He liked crushing bugs. He loved the window sill. He loved girls. He liked showing off to them, too. Opus loved the snow. He loved downpours just to hear the rain hit the wood of the back porch. The force was hypnotizing to him. He loved laying on you. He liked watching himself on video. Opus liked being held but only if you wrapped him around your shoulders. Opus liked getting your attention and loved when you talked to him…more so if you are talking normal to him and not like a baby. He loved Jeep interiors and a freshly mowed lawn. He loved gripping my fingers with his wide paws and a tight grip. He loved bathroom visitors. You were in his office. He loved sleeping on furry things as much as he loved the sun. He enjoyed the ‘hunt’ but would clean you while he cleaned himself. Opus loved watching the footballs fly across screens on Sunday but not as much as he loved Animal Planet. Opus didn’t like milk. He hated cigarettes or anything that had smoke to it. He'd literally wait to come over to you until he heard the butt go out in the ashtray on the porch. He detested sirens. He didn’t like Ozric Tentacles. He didn’t like loud people and was very standoffish and wary of children. He hated whistling and didn’t like cheese. Come to think of it, he didn’t like people food at all. He wasn't fearful of much but he hated spray bottles. And I never used one on him. So I could tell the previous owner must have just by the reaction of me holding one in my hand. He absolutely hated thunderstorms and hid under the toilet every time he heard a rumble.....and most of all, hated if you were leaving for the day or a trip even. He'd show you by knocking things off the kitchen counter when you aren't home for within 2 hours.
The Blizzard
In the final 2 years in the life of Opus, he did many bizarre things. My Vet friend explained that cats do go ‘senile’ a bit in the final stages of life just like humans. Opus wasn’t running into walls or anything, but things started to change. His long back legs didn’t bend like they used to so he had a hard time ‘sitting’. He was missing the box on a regular basis and only made it in there if I was home. If not, he found different places to leave me surprises. His mentality was, “well I know the bathroom is in here, so I was close, right?” One of the funnier moments was when I tried to set up a barricade to keep him on track to go right to the box and keep him from returning to the places he messed even years earlier that were treated. But one night thinking I was asleep on the couch, the genius decided to burrow between the box barricade which honestly took a lot of work to do even for a cat, only to have me catch him and look at me as if to say, “Whoops!” He got low to the ground and walked over to the dirt box and went to bathroom. I just thought to myself: ‘all that work when the box is right there?’ Explain the logic in this Opus. But again, he’s a cat. But in a small way, he understood enough to be like “Yeah that was stupid.” Just like any cat at this age, Opus began sleeping more. I mean you’d be ignorant not to notice that his sleeping habits picked up. He’d fall into these deep sleeps that almost began to worry me when I couldn’t wake him up. Cat owners are familiar with the whole ‘second eyelid’ thing…it can be a bit creepy. But again, this comes with age. He got more mouthy, crotchety, and unfortunately due to my neighbors kitten factory, fleas. I felt bad that at 17 years old, he had to be treated. But, he took it like a champ and even braved the tub for flea shampoo.(It's not fun when he HAS to be in the tub.) All things seemed to be getting better. He still ate like a horse, crapped like a racehorse, and peed like one too. Food was still his favorite gig and even showed curiosity when I was given a big red fighting fish we called Chase. He’d stare at him frequently, but Chase was high enough to not be touched. But I know how that little brain of Opus works. I kept telling my friend to stop showing Opus the tank. Not knowing Opus as well as I do, I explained that he watches and learns. Well, as the hours went by that night, I could see Opus staring from different areas and plotting within the fish tank area to see just how he could get up there. I warned him intermittantly. My friend said, “He won’t go up there…trust me.” A few hours after that as I was watching TV on the couch, I swore that Opus was still plotting. So I quick turn the lights on to find Opus standing in the hallway staring at the fish tank in the shadows. I told you he watches and learns. As December closed in, Opus was still his same old self, sleeping a lot, but still very active, still eating, still drinking, still plotting etc. But as the worst snow storms on recent record began falling over our area, Opus started sleeping more than I wanted him too. I didn’t stop him, but I just kept trying to keep him active. We got pounded with snow again in February which meant I had more time to spend with the boy. As the first storm in February hit, things were business as usual with Opus. I gave him a treat of tuna one night because of how good he’d been which made him outrageously happy. I told him if he was good as the next storm approached, I’d give him more. So that Tuesday night, a friend stopped at the house to pick up something and explained how funny Opus was being with flirting, going in the tub, doing what he does, etc. I arrived home an hour later to find Opus on his side whimpering. His grumblings at first made me think he had a hairball or was maybe having a hard time going to the bathroom. Then I began to notice white foam on different spots near him. I called my friend again and she said it definitely sounded like a hairball and just to keep him comfortable and it should pass. He just laid on the floor by my feet. I lured him out of the room to give him some food. He followed me but this time he was making stops along the way to rest. I knew something was wrong. I opened a can of Ocean Whitefish and I could see the look in his eyes that he was interested. He walked over to the dish, licked the top of the food only to go under the kitchen table to rest. Something was wrong. This was very un-Opus like. Then the nor’easter hit that night. Unfortunately when I awoke in the middle of the night, he hadn’t moved from under the kitchen table. I laid down on the floor near him and talked to him. He kept reaching his long arms out to me as if to say ‘I don’t feel well, please hold my hand.’ This went on till I fell back to sleep. Later that morning my company confirmed they were still open and I had to go in. The snow was bad. I felt guilty leaving Opus, but I figured they may close early anyway and I can spend time with him later. When I returned home a few hours later, I couldn’t find him. He put himself under the bed to be alone. Pet owners know what that means and I wasn’t having any of it. I pulled him and put him on the bed next to me. He hadn’t growled or whimpered, he just insisted on gripping my hands with his paws. I didn’t even bring into my mind what may be happening. But 24 hours of denying water and food from me on numerous occasions told me there was something a bit more deeper going on. As I looked in his eyes, the far away stare became more prevalent. I kept talking to him and calling his name which worked from time to time. I got worried because now, parts of his body weren’t moving at all. My boy was dying in front of me. I called animal hospitals all around and most were closed due to the blizzard. The closest one was 30 miles away and had limited staffing. As I contemplated getting ready to take him, things took a turn for the worse. His pupils were black, his paws were cold and his breathing picked up yet he laid motionless. At this point I was yelling his name repeatedly to very little reaction. I picked him and held him. He was limp and lifeless. His breathing became more silent and was reduced to a 'rattling'. I begged him over and over again not to leave me. Please don’t do this. Not now. But one knows that once that ‘rattling’ sound is heard, the end is near. I held him and he groaned and fought. He kicked and moaned not wanting to leave. And again came those awful breaths. Just then, a never to be forgotten, almost guttural sound could be heard, and his eyes showed that no one was home. How could that light that once burned so brightly, suddenly turn so pale? Opus was gone. That was it. My longtime friend and confidant was no more. For even a fleeting moment I thought that maybe this was just a bad dream. It wasn’t. Now? Like this? This is how this ends? I wrapped Opus in a towel and woolen bedding and put him on his favorite place, the back porch. I hated that I had to. But family, friends and even the Vet said this had to be done. I slept with the back door open in my insane grief that maybe he would wake up with the snow, crawl out of the box and come back in. And on the sane side, I felt, if he’s cold, then I will be too. We did everything else together, what should change now? The sad part was the snow just fell and fell with no relief. We became friends in a hurricane, and then lost him in a blizzard.

Memoirs
As the days pass now, the house is completely different. Friends have tried to comfort me, and many of my non pet friends can’t understand the sadness. Their remedy is usually “Just go get another cat.” They simply don’t understand. It’s something that just can’t be done. I can’t do that. Not now. There is no replacement for Opus. My home is not the same, nor will it be. There is no need to rush home anymore. There is no need to stop and feed my boy before I trek out for the night. There is no need to keep things off the counter filled with water anymore. There’s no one to tap me while I work, or dishes to be filled, or cans to be bought. There’s no need to leave the TV on anymore, or leave the door to the ‘great unknown’ open as I get ready for work anymore. There’s no one to be plastered on my screen door while I do laundry anymore. There’s no need to race to get to the bathroom now, nor is there the companionship for when you're in there. I won’t be showered and sputtered with water unexpectedly anymore. I won’t be awakened anymore by a friend that just wanted me up just to be up, nor is there a reason for me to have all these toys around. And most of all? There is no need to leave that tub spout dripping. We all say the same things when one close to you passes. I would have let Opus poop and pee all around my house if I could have him for one more day. One day just to show my roommate my appreciation. I’ll miss our conversations about my troubles with women and life as he would just gaze thin-eyed at me on the porch just listening. Life goes on I know. I just think of how unfair that whole process is. I have to move on now? How dare they say that. But, it’s true. It does. I don’t go quietly into that thinking. I never have nor will I ever. Death is not something I understand, nor do I scrape to understand its logic, if there is any that is. I do hope Opus got where he was supposed to go. I pray he did. I wish I knew if he did. I wish he could let me know, even. It sounds selfish, but he was mine and I should know. Sounds odd, huh? I’ve had lots of pets in my life. None of them were like Opus. I’ll miss those facial expressions too. That’s what burns in the recesses of my mind. The ‘pointy’ face when he smiled. Yes, I’ll miss that the most. But wherever he is, I know he’s going to be handful. I’m sure in heaven some habits are hard to break.
Even on this side they are as I forgot to shut the water completely off this morning when I was done my shower.
I miss you buddy.