RIP Vicious
Vicious wasn't my cat; he was my sister's. But he was big enough to share.
We were convinced he was part Maine Coon, even though my sister has his full sister and she looks nothing like a Maine Coon. He was a big boy--not fat, just BIG--with a huge head, big tuff-ty ears, enormous paws, and a little tiny voice, which are all typical of MCs. It didn't hurt that he was a brown tabby, looked like a raccoon, and weighed as much as 17 pounds when in good health. (This picture isn't of Vicious, but it almost could be.)
Upon meeting Vicious, the common reaction was a slightly awed, "That's a really big cat. I've never seen a cat that big."
His name started out as Meowth--my nephew was into Pokemon at the time--but changed due to his habit as a kitten of climbing up your leg regardless of whether you were wearing pants--or anything at all--at the time. My sister's censored reaction to this was generally, "Oh, you vicious cat!"
Staff at the various vets my sister took him to would look at her with reproach and tell her, "You know, he's really not vicious at all." Yes, we know. It's OK. His feelings aren't hurt.
If Vicious really liked you, he would climb into your lap, park himself on your chest, put his ginormous paws on either side of your head, look at you VERY intently because this was clearly very serious business--and then lunge at you and lick your face.
Getting licked by Vicious was like a very rough, damp, and pungent exfoliation procedure. It felt like strips of skin were coming off with each swipe of that tongue. But he was not to be deterred. He sank the claws in to hold you still and then kept coming at you.
He had his share of health scares over the years and used most of his nine lives. Last year, he had surgery to remove a vaccine-related sarcoma, which carried with it a better than 50% chance of recurring. So when he started to breathe more heavily than normal a couple of weeks ago, my sister resigned herself to losing him, even though he was only 10. She didn't want to put him through more surgery or invasive treatment of any kind because he was so clearly miserable when sick or getting treated.
She was out of town last week, and I took him to the vet on Saturday to see if they could prescribe anything to help his breathing. The vet X-rayed his lungs and broke the news to me that they were in very bad shape and she didn't think he'd last more than a couple of days. He could go to the emergency vet for the rest of the weekend and be put into an oxygen cage to help him breathe, but that would be very expensive and there was no guarantee that they could diagnose whatever was causing the lung problems--which could be anything from cancer to asthma to lungworms--much less treat it successfully.
So I called my sister and we agreed that I would take him home with some meds to help open his airways. I sat with him all weekend, enticed him to eat with his favorite foods ($1 double cheeseburger from Burger King for the win), and got many Vicious kisses Sunday morning as he snuggled next to me. My sister cut her trip short and got home Sunday night. By that time, though, his organs were shutting down, and he was lethargic and distant. She slept on the couch with him Sunday night, and although he was not his normal, affectionate self, he did finally give her a kiss before they left for the vet on Monday to do what needed to be done.
People who say that cats are boring and aloof have never met a cat like Vicious, who oozed personality from every pore. I love all my cats, past and present, but sometimes you meet a cat who's just...special--not only for you but for almost everyone who meets him. Vicious was one of those cats.
I miss you, big guy.
We were convinced he was part Maine Coon, even though my sister has his full sister and she looks nothing like a Maine Coon. He was a big boy--not fat, just BIG--with a huge head, big tuff-ty ears, enormous paws, and a little tiny voice, which are all typical of MCs. It didn't hurt that he was a brown tabby, looked like a raccoon, and weighed as much as 17 pounds when in good health. (This picture isn't of Vicious, but it almost could be.)
Upon meeting Vicious, the common reaction was a slightly awed, "That's a really big cat. I've never seen a cat that big."
His name started out as Meowth--my nephew was into Pokemon at the time--but changed due to his habit as a kitten of climbing up your leg regardless of whether you were wearing pants--or anything at all--at the time. My sister's censored reaction to this was generally, "Oh, you vicious cat!"
Staff at the various vets my sister took him to would look at her with reproach and tell her, "You know, he's really not vicious at all." Yes, we know. It's OK. His feelings aren't hurt.
If Vicious really liked you, he would climb into your lap, park himself on your chest, put his ginormous paws on either side of your head, look at you VERY intently because this was clearly very serious business--and then lunge at you and lick your face.
Getting licked by Vicious was like a very rough, damp, and pungent exfoliation procedure. It felt like strips of skin were coming off with each swipe of that tongue. But he was not to be deterred. He sank the claws in to hold you still and then kept coming at you.
He had his share of health scares over the years and used most of his nine lives. Last year, he had surgery to remove a vaccine-related sarcoma, which carried with it a better than 50% chance of recurring. So when he started to breathe more heavily than normal a couple of weeks ago, my sister resigned herself to losing him, even though he was only 10. She didn't want to put him through more surgery or invasive treatment of any kind because he was so clearly miserable when sick or getting treated.
She was out of town last week, and I took him to the vet on Saturday to see if they could prescribe anything to help his breathing. The vet X-rayed his lungs and broke the news to me that they were in very bad shape and she didn't think he'd last more than a couple of days. He could go to the emergency vet for the rest of the weekend and be put into an oxygen cage to help him breathe, but that would be very expensive and there was no guarantee that they could diagnose whatever was causing the lung problems--which could be anything from cancer to asthma to lungworms--much less treat it successfully.
So I called my sister and we agreed that I would take him home with some meds to help open his airways. I sat with him all weekend, enticed him to eat with his favorite foods ($1 double cheeseburger from Burger King for the win), and got many Vicious kisses Sunday morning as he snuggled next to me. My sister cut her trip short and got home Sunday night. By that time, though, his organs were shutting down, and he was lethargic and distant. She slept on the couch with him Sunday night, and although he was not his normal, affectionate self, he did finally give her a kiss before they left for the vet on Monday to do what needed to be done.
People who say that cats are boring and aloof have never met a cat like Vicious, who oozed personality from every pore. I love all my cats, past and present, but sometimes you meet a cat who's just...special--not only for you but for almost everyone who meets him. Vicious was one of those cats.
I miss you, big guy.