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pixiebelle“I think our cat is broken.” We said that almost daily after adopting Dexter.
We were told he loved headbutts and was very sweet. We thought we were getting a kitten, but what we ended up with was something more resembling a demon than a cat (a demon that did enjoy headbutts, that part was true).
We originally adopted Dexter as a friend for our other cat, Miss Kitty. Instead of a friend, however, we gave her an annoying little brother. At night, when Miss Kitty was curled up next to me in bed, Dexter would hop up with us and start a fight with her. Tired of being woken up every ten minutes, I started nudging him off the bed. Not one to be deterred, he’d hop right back up and start picking on Miss Kitty again. Eventually, he learned I would nudge him from the bed so he’d hop up, pat-pat-pat her a few times and hop down before I could do anything about it. This continued all night. He earned a nickname, that referenced a Jack in the Box since that’s what he resembled when doing this.
We’d jokingly call him Mr. Dick. He wasn’t mean or aggressive, he just liked to annoy her - much like a little brother annoys an older sister. He even liked to play the “I’m not touching you,” game with her, hovering his paw inches from her face but never touching her until she’d had enough and jumped him. Dexter was a big cat - the foster parents had mistakenly told us he was a Maine Coon and while that didn’t appear to be the case, he was as large as one. Miss Kitty was a normal-sized calico. Yet she was raised on the streets and adopted as an adult, so when they’d start fighting, she always came out on top. Dexter would lie there on the ground, defeated, his tail jerking this way and that way as he tried to figure out how his much tinier sister could take him down time and time again.
One Christmas, we went all out on decorations - even hanging up stockings for our dog and two cats. The place looked festive, and we went to bed happy with ourselves. The next morning, we awoke to the stockings on the ground, the Christmas ornaments all over the floor and our decorations thrown all over the place. This is how he became known as The Grinch - because he simply loved destroying Christmas and anything to do with it. He even got a custom song that went like this (to the tune of the song from The Grinch).
You’re a mean one, Mr. Dick.
The meanest Dick around.
You’re furry and you’re cuddly with a heart as black as death.
Mr. Diiiiiiick.
His focus wasn’t just on Christmas decorations or Miss Kitty, however. He was also obsessed with my Great Dane, Annabelle. From the moment he saw her, it was love at first sight. She was a lot less enamored with him at first, and his constant clamoring for attention left Annabelle unsure of him at first. One night, I heard Annabelle pacing the hall - walking from her couch in the living room to the spare bedroom to the couch again. I got up to see what that was about only to discover that Dexter was following her from room to room, or in her mind, chasing her. She would get cozy on the couch and he’d join her, pawing at things and annoying her, so she’d get up and leave, only for him to follow her down the hall. She’d collapse on the floor in the spare room with a deep, annoyed sigh only for him to come up to her and start pawing at her all over again. She looked up at me like, please, can I sleep?
He didn’t care much for letting anyone sleep, apparently. Not Miss Kitty. Not Annabelle. Not me. He was a nocturnal creature and thought we all should be too. He demanded attention. When Miss Kitty passed away, he took over her job of kneading me at night very seriously - too seriously in fact, since he’d often growl at me if I dared move. He’d bite me if I’d pet him. It was like he was telling me, “Let. Me. Love. You.” So I did. I’d leave him to do his business, and I started calling him Business Cat.
Dexter eventually became best friends with Annabelle, however, and when he lost her, something changed in him. And when my ex and I split, he became even more needy of me. I think he was afraid of losing me too. He started showing more and more affection toward me, and before long, he became my little buddy. Every time I got on the computer to work, he’d run over and push everything off the desk - including the keyboard and mouse - in order to get attention from me. I’d kiss his little head and he’d headbutt me, purring away and not caring that I couldn’t get my work done. I always stopped whatever I was doing to love on him, because I needed him too after all the losses we’d suffered together over the years. And I knew life was fleeting.
He still kept me up at night, by scratching the bed and meowing loudly. I used to fight with him, begging for him to just let me sleep. But then I realized if I made room for him next to me in bed, he’d stop scratching and meowing and climb into bed next to me. I’d kiss his little head and scratch his chin until my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. He’d stay next to me all night, sometimes spreading out and pushing me very close to the edge of the bed. But I didn’t move him. I knew one day he’d be gone, and I would miss those moments.
I knew the day would come, but I never expected it to come as quickly as it did. Dexter was ten years old and still spry as ever. He jumped on bookshelves, constantly ate any plastic he could find, and was generally causing mischief wherever he went.
When my husband told me that he was drooling, I figured it was nothing. I felt silly even taking him to the vet, thinking they’d laugh at me. We’d just gotten a new puppy and he loved eating the puppy’s food, so I assumed it was caused by that or the stress of having a new pup in the house.
The vet didn’t laugh at me though. He said, “Do you feel this lump here?”
I didn’t, but I trusted the vet. We scheduled a biopsy and a CT scan, and the vet pretty much assumed it was cancer. He started talking to me about “We’ll do the biopsy to determine if it’s a slow cancer or the bad cancer… Well, all cancer is bad, but there’s one that’s really bad.”
“But it might not be cancer, right? It could be something else?”
He looked sad for me, but said, “It might not be cancer, but it’s probably cancer, but some cancers can be treated with surgery–”
“Surgery?” I noted the location of the lump on his jaw. “To remove the cancer?”
“Well, to remove part of his jaw.”
My heart dropped. Tears welled up in my eyes. No, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t remove part of his jaw. How would he eat? I wanted to scream, but I held it together and left the vet, with plans to do the tests a few days later.
It wasn’t easy to get him diagnosed. The first biopsy was inconclusive and gave me hope. The CT showed it might even be a tooth infection. Another biopsy was scheduled. More inconclusive results. More hope that maybe I wouldn’t lose my little buddy. He was only ten years old, it wasn’t fair. I lost Miss Kitty and Annabelle to cancer too. I had breast cancer. My mom has had three cancers in six years. I’m so fucking sick of cancer. I begged the universe to please let it be something else, to let my cat grow old beside me.
We visited a veterinary oncologist, and long story short, we eventually got the news.
It was the bad cancer.
Squamous cell carcinoma.
Within a matter of weeks, the cancer had grown so large that eating had become difficult. We went from feeding him only wet food to a liquid diet to him only eating treats. We tried feeding him with a syringe, a special medical diet, but he hated it. I hated doing it to him.
With no cure in sight and knowing that it was only going to get worse for him, I scheduled at-home euthanasia for my sweet boy. He fell asleep on my bed, curled up next to me like usual, while I gave him head kisses and whispered about how he was such an amazing cat. He would never wake up again.
No more scratching the bed and meowing all night long. I can work now, he’s no longer pushing my keyboard into my lap. I don’t have him business-catting on my blankets and being unable to move without getting bit.
I can sleep at night now.
Except no, I can’t.
Because there’s an empty spot next to me in bed and I miss all those things that used to drive me crazy.
I’d give anything to have him keeping me from writing this entry right now.
I miss him, annoying antics and all. I miss everything about him.
I just want him back.
We were told he loved headbutts and was very sweet. We thought we were getting a kitten, but what we ended up with was something more resembling a demon than a cat (a demon that did enjoy headbutts, that part was true).
We originally adopted Dexter as a friend for our other cat, Miss Kitty. Instead of a friend, however, we gave her an annoying little brother. At night, when Miss Kitty was curled up next to me in bed, Dexter would hop up with us and start a fight with her. Tired of being woken up every ten minutes, I started nudging him off the bed. Not one to be deterred, he’d hop right back up and start picking on Miss Kitty again. Eventually, he learned I would nudge him from the bed so he’d hop up, pat-pat-pat her a few times and hop down before I could do anything about it. This continued all night. He earned a nickname, that referenced a Jack in the Box since that’s what he resembled when doing this.
We’d jokingly call him Mr. Dick. He wasn’t mean or aggressive, he just liked to annoy her - much like a little brother annoys an older sister. He even liked to play the “I’m not touching you,” game with her, hovering his paw inches from her face but never touching her until she’d had enough and jumped him. Dexter was a big cat - the foster parents had mistakenly told us he was a Maine Coon and while that didn’t appear to be the case, he was as large as one. Miss Kitty was a normal-sized calico. Yet she was raised on the streets and adopted as an adult, so when they’d start fighting, she always came out on top. Dexter would lie there on the ground, defeated, his tail jerking this way and that way as he tried to figure out how his much tinier sister could take him down time and time again.
One Christmas, we went all out on decorations - even hanging up stockings for our dog and two cats. The place looked festive, and we went to bed happy with ourselves. The next morning, we awoke to the stockings on the ground, the Christmas ornaments all over the floor and our decorations thrown all over the place. This is how he became known as The Grinch - because he simply loved destroying Christmas and anything to do with it. He even got a custom song that went like this (to the tune of the song from The Grinch).
You’re a mean one, Mr. Dick.
The meanest Dick around.
You’re furry and you’re cuddly with a heart as black as death.
Mr. Diiiiiiick.
His focus wasn’t just on Christmas decorations or Miss Kitty, however. He was also obsessed with my Great Dane, Annabelle. From the moment he saw her, it was love at first sight. She was a lot less enamored with him at first, and his constant clamoring for attention left Annabelle unsure of him at first. One night, I heard Annabelle pacing the hall - walking from her couch in the living room to the spare bedroom to the couch again. I got up to see what that was about only to discover that Dexter was following her from room to room, or in her mind, chasing her. She would get cozy on the couch and he’d join her, pawing at things and annoying her, so she’d get up and leave, only for him to follow her down the hall. She’d collapse on the floor in the spare room with a deep, annoyed sigh only for him to come up to her and start pawing at her all over again. She looked up at me like, please, can I sleep?
He didn’t care much for letting anyone sleep, apparently. Not Miss Kitty. Not Annabelle. Not me. He was a nocturnal creature and thought we all should be too. He demanded attention. When Miss Kitty passed away, he took over her job of kneading me at night very seriously - too seriously in fact, since he’d often growl at me if I dared move. He’d bite me if I’d pet him. It was like he was telling me, “Let. Me. Love. You.” So I did. I’d leave him to do his business, and I started calling him Business Cat.
Dexter eventually became best friends with Annabelle, however, and when he lost her, something changed in him. And when my ex and I split, he became even more needy of me. I think he was afraid of losing me too. He started showing more and more affection toward me, and before long, he became my little buddy. Every time I got on the computer to work, he’d run over and push everything off the desk - including the keyboard and mouse - in order to get attention from me. I’d kiss his little head and he’d headbutt me, purring away and not caring that I couldn’t get my work done. I always stopped whatever I was doing to love on him, because I needed him too after all the losses we’d suffered together over the years. And I knew life was fleeting.
He still kept me up at night, by scratching the bed and meowing loudly. I used to fight with him, begging for him to just let me sleep. But then I realized if I made room for him next to me in bed, he’d stop scratching and meowing and climb into bed next to me. I’d kiss his little head and scratch his chin until my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. He’d stay next to me all night, sometimes spreading out and pushing me very close to the edge of the bed. But I didn’t move him. I knew one day he’d be gone, and I would miss those moments.
I knew the day would come, but I never expected it to come as quickly as it did. Dexter was ten years old and still spry as ever. He jumped on bookshelves, constantly ate any plastic he could find, and was generally causing mischief wherever he went.
When my husband told me that he was drooling, I figured it was nothing. I felt silly even taking him to the vet, thinking they’d laugh at me. We’d just gotten a new puppy and he loved eating the puppy’s food, so I assumed it was caused by that or the stress of having a new pup in the house.
The vet didn’t laugh at me though. He said, “Do you feel this lump here?”
I didn’t, but I trusted the vet. We scheduled a biopsy and a CT scan, and the vet pretty much assumed it was cancer. He started talking to me about “We’ll do the biopsy to determine if it’s a slow cancer or the bad cancer… Well, all cancer is bad, but there’s one that’s really bad.”
“But it might not be cancer, right? It could be something else?”
He looked sad for me, but said, “It might not be cancer, but it’s probably cancer, but some cancers can be treated with surgery–”
“Surgery?” I noted the location of the lump on his jaw. “To remove the cancer?”
“Well, to remove part of his jaw.”
My heart dropped. Tears welled up in my eyes. No, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t remove part of his jaw. How would he eat? I wanted to scream, but I held it together and left the vet, with plans to do the tests a few days later.
It wasn’t easy to get him diagnosed. The first biopsy was inconclusive and gave me hope. The CT showed it might even be a tooth infection. Another biopsy was scheduled. More inconclusive results. More hope that maybe I wouldn’t lose my little buddy. He was only ten years old, it wasn’t fair. I lost Miss Kitty and Annabelle to cancer too. I had breast cancer. My mom has had three cancers in six years. I’m so fucking sick of cancer. I begged the universe to please let it be something else, to let my cat grow old beside me.
We visited a veterinary oncologist, and long story short, we eventually got the news.
It was the bad cancer.
Squamous cell carcinoma.
Within a matter of weeks, the cancer had grown so large that eating had become difficult. We went from feeding him only wet food to a liquid diet to him only eating treats. We tried feeding him with a syringe, a special medical diet, but he hated it. I hated doing it to him.
With no cure in sight and knowing that it was only going to get worse for him, I scheduled at-home euthanasia for my sweet boy. He fell asleep on my bed, curled up next to me like usual, while I gave him head kisses and whispered about how he was such an amazing cat. He would never wake up again.
No more scratching the bed and meowing all night long. I can work now, he’s no longer pushing my keyboard into my lap. I don’t have him business-catting on my blankets and being unable to move without getting bit.
I can sleep at night now.
Except no, I can’t.
Because there’s an empty spot next to me in bed and I miss all those things that used to drive me crazy.
I’d give anything to have him keeping me from writing this entry right now.
I miss him, annoying antics and all. I miss everything about him.
I just want him back.
