The cat that I shared residence with for 15 years and has subsequently lived another three, is having his last night this evening.

He and I have had a tumultuous relationship. It’s no secret that I said on numerous occasions that I thought he’d been taken from his mother too soon and wasn’t ready to be a pet and that he didn’t have normal cat behaviours and that I thought he should be put down. 

There’s history. 

I may forgive but forgetting is a little trickier.

This is the kitten that was chosen based on swatting another kitten from the top of a cat pole, sitting there and swiping at any other kitten that tried to take it from him. That should have been a sign, yet it was ignored.

It’s the same cat that had its first outing, as our new kitten, to the Botanic Gardens in Sydney where he was initially named “Bob” to have it changed within about 10 minutes to “Arnie”. Named after Arnold Schwarzenegger. It was an appropriate choice as he certainly has been a very determined and ambitious cat. He’s also had his share of size issues.

It’s the same cat who stayed with us in an apartment where we weren’t met to have one and seemed to particularly enjoy flaunting his existence by walking on the balcony railings. We were told that it was us or the cat. We moved. I’m not sure we made the right choice.

It’s the same cat that when he was taken to the vet whom we asked if the cat was fat, we were told “no”. As we breathed a sigh of relief, the vet told us “he is obese”. As two sporty people, that was difficult to hear. 

It’s the same cat that no matter how much food was left in his bowl or how recently he had eaten he was hungry and let everyone know – especially if it was the middle of the night, a good spot in a movie or time for a sleep-in.

It’s the same cat that would do mad laps over the furniture or the bed at any time of the day or night.

It’s the same cat that had to be taught how to hunt skinks and cockroaches, shied from mice but had no trouble hunting me. He once ate a cockroach that had been sprayed. He never did that again.

It’s the same cat that decides he’ll be momentarily affectionate if I was to be going out and wearing clothes that would show fur. 

It’s the same cat that figured we wouldn’t be able to see him if he couldn’t see us and would hide his head behind furniture while leaving his body in full view.

It’s the same cat that would jump onto your lap and nuzzle for a pat. If you weren’t watching his pupils or the movement of his ears though, he would then be the cat that would clasp onto your arm, digging his teeth in and possibly sliding down your arm until you managed to either flick or pry him off. Actually, I think this only happened to me.

It’s the same cat that has left me with a bulk of the scar tissue on my body. 

It’s the same cat that would stalk me through the house, I’d know he was there and if I ran to jump onto furniture, he’d still beat me to it and swipe my feet. Four legs good, two legs bad.

It’s the same cat that I had a stand-off with on a staircase and armed myself with the lid of a rubbish bin so he would get out of my way while I retained whatever skin was left on my legs.

It’s the same cat that seemed to find me walking anywhere irresistable. I was his prey and he needed to sneak up on me as quietly as possible and either swipe at my feet or jump as high as he could up my legs and slide his way down.

It’s the same cat that prevented me from sticking my feet out from under the covers when if I became too hot.

It’s the same cat that has made my arms and legs look like Freddy Krueger has come out of my nightmares. And then done laps. A few times.

It’s the same cat that is the reason behind me wearing long pants inside when I get home from work no matter what the temperature. Shorts or a skirt if I was feeling daring or quick.

It’s the same cat that has 18 years of aggression built up and some of that has pickled his insides. This is how I think he has been able to live so long. He is well preserved.

Somehow he tolerated Lucy and still does when she visits or he has the misfortune to stay with me. His movements haven’t slowed much and he still stalks me as though I was a zebra and he was a lion.

It’s the same cat that has had a rough time of things lately. Between his thyroid issues, his heart and a cancer scare, it hasn’t been easy for him. He’s relocated homes a few times since he and I lived together and he’s now living with another cat. They are not friends. 

After all this, it’s the same cat that still makes me cry tonight though for an entirely different reason compared to having scratches festering on my extremeties.

For all the pain and suffering he’s caused me, I want it to be easy for him. He’s apparently not in any pain and has just given up fighting now. Shame that didn’t happen 17.5 years ago.

If he’s anything like his namesake though, I guess “he’ll be back” in some form or another. Hope he’s cheerier the next time around for both his sake and those he lives with.

* Thanks to The Smith Street Band for the title to this post.