Tommy - our sweet lovebug

Tommy - our sweet lovebug - August (?)1993 - January 30, 2007

He was 9 months old when he came to us as a stray. He was almost 14 years old when he left us. The photo in the upper right was taken just days before he died of an asthma attack. We will bury him in spring, under the birdhouse hanging on the arbor. Here is what my friend wrote:

Shall we consider Cat Heaven? Tommy being able to run and chase all the mice and birds with all the energy and vigor of a healthy kitten. Tuna served fresh daily just the way he loves it... and of course--no dogs or big uglies that frightened him in this life. Doing whatever he wants whenever
he wants. Cat Paradise, cat luxury, cat ecstasy....Happy Tommy and he's in a wonderful place--forever loved in your heart!!!! -- Jill

The first time I saw Tommy....

Dear Cindy, We are so sorry to hear of the loss of your dear Tommy. He was a beautiful creature, and fortunate to have been asked to share your house. I think of him waiting to be fed here - before you adopted him - with his flagpole tail straight up. The photo you took of the 2 of us has become a favorite. When the time comes, I know there is a little waif waiting for you. We love you. Eloise & Bob

The first time I saw Tommy, he was following Eloise Ensor and a pan of food in the yard of her home in the little fishing village of Port Clyde, Maine. Tommy, like all of my other cats (coincidentally) was a tabby, and in the summer of 1994 he was about nine months old. I just happened to have my camera and took a black-and-white photograph of the two of them, which I later hand-painted. I don’t know if the huge wisteria around the porch was actually blooming at the time, but I painted in the flowers just the same.

Eloise and her husband Bob couldn’t keep this little stray as they had a wire-haired fox terrier named Nellie (see “Nellie the Lighthouse Dog” - a children’s book) who hated cats. But since Tommy had adopted them, the Ensors were seeing to it that he was fed properly. I had left a cat behind in Tacoma, Washington when I divorced and moved to Maine, and wanted very much to keep Tommy. Fortunately the landlord said it was fine, and the Ensors had Tommy vetted and “defrosted” for me.

My house was about a block from Bob and Eloise, and for the first few days Tommy kept appearing back at their house, until he got the idea that I was now his meal ticket and new mommy. I think it was I who named him, because he had been a tom cat. Or had been on his way to being one before the “intervention.” My 9-year-old son Ryan had been very fond of our Tacoma cat Charlie, and showered this newcomer with affection as well. Unlike some children, Ryan had always been very gentle with animals, and never once teased or hurt an animal out of meanness. However, he did like to play rough with Tommy, who responded by latching onto his arm and wrestling back. (Even when he was in college, Ryan would play like that with Tommy, and always brought him to bed with him, even though Tommy usually preferred mine. )

Tommy, being a stray, was very street savvy. He always stopped, looked, and listened before crossing the street, which was a two lane road 7 feet from the front porch, and a block from the Atlantic Ocean. He did not like trucks, though. I don’t know if it was their rumbling and loud noise that scared him, or if he had had a close encounter with one once, but if he was in my arms when one approached, he clawed his way to the ground and shot off the other way.

Tommy was always crossing the road, and I worried about that, but he had managed to survive outdoors and resented being forced inside when he didn’t want to be. He was a great hunter, and when we were living in that house he managed to catch a huge Norway rat. Of course, I didn’t know he had something in his mouth until I had let him in the door. Oh, did I mention that he didn’t even have the courtesy to kill it first? He dropped it and the rodent ran squealing along the walls. I wanted nothing more than to help it leave, but it had sharp needles for teeth and no way was I going to get near it. Tommy was following along and chased it into the closet. I figured if I put Tommy in there with it and shut the door, he’d finish the poor thing off.

Well, every few minutes I’d hear this high-pitched “wee wee wee” from the rat when Tommy grabbed for it, and this went on for an hour before Tommy grew bored of the game and started knocking things off the shelf in there. So I grabbed a heavy metal straight-edge I’d been using to cut mats with, let Tommy out, and found the rat behind a heavy box of books, wedged in the corner. I slammed the straight-edge down on the poor thing and it sickened me to kill it, but it had to be done. I think it was about a foot long from nose to tail.

Also while in that house he tangled with a skunk. It was such a powerful, chemical smell that at first I didn’t know it was skunk, even when he came through the open window that night and got on the bed with me. Only later, when he returned from his outside forays, did I realize what it was. It was kinda late for the tomato juice bath, but he got one anyway. Of course, he fought it tooth and nail, looking like a victim in the shower scene from Psycho. Skunk oil takes weeks to really dissipate from the fur, but at least he became more tolerable.

He was skunked three times total, and I think he finally learned his lesson. Last summer I let him out onto the deck and he just about ran right into a skunk that had emerged from the rhododendron to eat his leftover cat food. (In the last 2 years Tommy insisted on being fed outside if the weather was decent.) I screamed, shut the screen door as fast as I could (as if that would have helped) and thought for sure we were both going to get sprayed. But Tommy just backed away, twitching his indignant tail. I think these two were well acquainted by now, and each knew the other wasn’t going to be a bother.

Back to the Port Clyde house - I was renting the house seasonally, meaning I had to move out in summer so it could be rented for some real good money, and so the owners could have a couple of weeks in it. I traveled to do art shows out of state that summer, and stayed in a campground locally while I waited for the house to be mine again in September. That summer, Tommy lived in Rockland, about 20 miles up the road, with a friend from work, Charlene MacDonald, and her family. Charlene’s daughter Katie fell in love with him, and he was well cared for that summer. Katie hated to see him leave! One thing about Tommy, everybody who knew him fell in love with him.

My fourth summer in Maine found me moving five miles up the road to Tenants Harbor. Again, our house was on the main road - a 35mph zone through the village - and Tommy did cross it on occasion. I held my breath each time I saw him do it. Once he spied some grackles in the yard across the street, and he crossed without looking, so intent was he on catching one of those exciting birds. He came back with one in his mouth, too, and I quickly rescued it and set it free.

There was an unneutered tom cat in the neighborhood, and I took Tommy to the vet four times in the 3 years I was there to drain the abcesses the other cat caused. I remember one time it cost $80 and I was wondering how I could afford to pay for it, when I couldn’t even afford my own health care? I had an art gallery in that building, and Tommy would lay right in the middle of the entrance and he wouldn’t even twitch an ear when people stepped over him. He was always that laid back. Once he slept peacefully in the window and some man from out of state brought his big bully dog right to the window purposely to scare the hell out of Tommy. He succeeded, nearly ruining the art in the window when Tommy jumped up in terror. It makes you wonder if this guy beat his wife, too.

The lady I hired to manage the gallery when I was away, Carol Adams, let Tommy lay on the desk next to her. Tommy knew he wasn’t allowed to be on the tables when I was around. And he only got up on the kitchen table for a better view out the window when I was out of the house. If he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, I clapped my hands together, which he hated, and he scooted outta there. But Carol was a soft touch, and they were great pals.

The lady across the street had an orange tabby named Beastlie. I can’t remember why her kids named him that, but he was so obnoxiously friendly. He pretty much moved in with us, to Tommy’s complete disgust. We wound up keeping him for a few months because his family had to move, and Tommy got so he could tolerate Beastlie, who didn’t let Tommy’s disdain unnerve him in the slightest. Although Tommy never bothered Ryan’s parakeet in his upstairs room, Beastlie found the door open one day and, well, let’s just say the room was torn apart and there was a little smattering of feathers where there had once been a parakeet. Ryan was sad, but we buried what we could find, and that was that. Beastlie, however, seemed quite smug for a long while after that. Finally Beastlie’s family came to claim him, and Tommy had his domain back.

Then we had a chance to rent a house around the corner, with a view of the harbor, so Tommy got right to work clearing out the neighborhood of various vermin. The first week he killed about a half dozen squirrels, mice, and chipmunks, and they were all laid out like little dead soldiers all in a row. Once we watched him stalk a gray squirrel eating on the ground. Every time the squirrel bent over to eat, Tommy crept in, and as soon as the squirrel sat up, Tommy froze. This went on for about 10 minutes, and it was fascinating to watch. But eventually the squirrel was on to him, and scurried away. Two summers ago I watched Tommy creep up on a red squirrel under the bird feeder, and the squirrel had his eye on Tommy the whole time, yet didn’t bother to run away until it was too late. I guess this squirrel had the STOOPID genes and wasn’t meant to pass them on.

Tommy rarely killed birds, thankfully. They were way too much work. I mean, there were voles (the easiest) and mice and chipmunks and an occasional rat (eew) that were so much easier. He often ate them, too. Sometimes all I’d find would be a little red furry tail. Once he ate the whole mouse right in front of me, leaving only a little kidney-shaped organ uneaten. I found lots of those little kidney shaped things over the years. I also had to give him tapeworm pills regularly.

One summer day, Tommy was dozing in back of the house in Tenants Harbor, and a female belted kingfisher flew right into the upstairs window above him. I didn’t see it happen, but that is the only explanation I can come up with for how she wound up in Tommy’s mouth, squawking her head off. I had just been outside where Tommy was curled up in the sun, and a minute later he had this huge bird in his mouth. I extricated the poor thing, put her in a cage with a towel over it, and thought for sure she had a broken neck and would die. But an hour later, she was sitting up, so I took her in my hands and let her fly off toward the harbor. I’m sure she thought she had just awoken from a nightmare. Tommy, on the other hand, must have thought he had just had a wonderful dream. Imagine a bird that big landing right in front of him, and he didn’t have to do a stitch of work to get it!

One winter when we were having a stretch of very bitter weather, Tommy disappeared for five days. I asked the neighbors if they would check their garages, as I thought he may have been locked inside. Then he showed up as if nothing had happened, seeming no worse for wear. We never did find out what happened to him. But that was the first time I felt very sad and lonely, thinking I might never see him again. I don’t know how many of his nine lives he used up on that little venture, but obviously he had enough left to see him through the other hazards he was to encounter.

Ryan playing with Tommy Summer 06

When Ryan was in 8^th grade, the kids were given an assignment to bring in some things from the natural world. Some of them sounded too outrageous but Ryan assured me it was true, they were supposed to bring in a live chipmunk if they could. Now, being a tomboy in my own childhood, I rose to the challenge while he was at school. The chipmunks were always under the bird feeder, and I figured a little Have-a-heart live trap would be easy enough to catch one in. I wrapped it in some mesh as the holes in the trap were big, and in no time caught one. However, I didn’t have time to put on the gloves to get it out of the trap before it wriggled away, and it bit me and ran off. Tommy, however, pounced on it, and held it for me until I got the gloves on and took it from him. A half hour later I was showing it around at the school, and earned the respect of the boys who had NOT caught their own chipmunks. So Ryan and I brought to the biology teacher, who said something like it really wasn’t necessary to bring in a live chipmunk, and maybe I should get a rabies shot. Well, I looked it up and rodents rarely carry rabies. We let the poor guy go when I got home, but Tommy probably caught it later anyway, as they really were such easy game.

Sometimes I’d take a walk and Tommy would follow me. It wasn’t his usual territory, and he’d meow as if to say “Mommy, I’m not sure I like where you’re going, but I’ll come along anyway.” He was also good at chasing dogs out of the yard, no matter what the size. He was a terrible host when a friend's sweet little bichon frise came with her to visit, and when Sonny just wanted to say "hi" Tommy gave him a swat on the nose. Several little dogs I know have had their feelings hurt by such rudeness.

In 2003 we finally bought a house and moved to Waldoboro, about 20 miles from Tenants Harbor. Tommy had a huge yard to claim as his own here, plus the nearby woods and fields. The hunting was never better, but I worried even more about him being the hunted. There were coyotes and raccoons, and one never knew if there was a ferocious fisher in the neighborhood. It turned out it wasn’t the animals I had to fear, but another human being.

But first I must say that Tommy - as you might have guessed - loved to be outdoors. There were times when I wanted to keep him in for one reason or another, and he acted like he was being deprived of life itself if I didn’t let him out. I figured if it meant him living a shorter life, it would certainly be richer. I mean, we'd all be safer if we never left our houses, right?

Ryan started college in 2004, and that winter I went to Florida to do art shows. I hired my neighbor Danielle to come twice a day to feed and love him, and to let him in and out if he so chose. That worked out fine, so winter 2005 I was gone for 3-1/2 months and the neighbor Kelsey Snyder did the cat and house sitting on her way to and from school every day. Kelsey and her friend Kaitlin who often came with her thought the world of Tommy.

So did my other neighbor, who shall go by “W” for “whacked.” W and I were friends, and I mowed her lawn because she would not, I hauled the trash in her yard to the dump because she would not, I gave her money and took pictures of her cat and invited her to dinner on the holidays because she had no family here. She claimed to love Tommy, and I believe she did in her own way. But she, being a fearful person, had the notion that Tommy was old and weak, that he was being stalked by animals in the night, that he was always afraid, and that if you truly loved an animal you would never let it outside to be subjected to such terrors. Eesh. It got so she would open the door to our house in the middle of the night and let him inside, and I had to tell her that was an invasion of our privacy and to please stop. I couldn’t get her to understand Tommy was not living in terror, that he loved being outdoors, and that to imprison him against his will was akin to torture to him. When he wanted to come in, he plucked on the screens and if we heard him, we let him in. If we didn’t, he’d find a place to curl up til morning. It was the way he wanted to live.

But she got more obsessed with Tommy’s supposed torment, and - long story short - called the animal control officer to take him away in the dead of winter while I was in Florida. I had been warned she might do that, and told Officer Dumb Ass both verbally and in writing that if she did, to simply put Tommy in our garage and Kelsey would take care of him in the morning. But did he do that? No he did not. Officer Dumb Ass put Tommy in a box and stashed him in his garage six miles away over night in below-freezing February weather. Now if you or I did that, we’d be arrested for animal abuse. But this man was an officer of the law, and could not imagine that a cat would be so terrified that he would claw his way out of the box during that long night and shoot right out of the garage the moment the door was opened. Which is what happened.

He called me, said he had put Have-a-Heart traps out, and was going to ask the neighbors if they had seen him. (He never did) I was furious, but I was also 1700 miles away. I called W and told her if I didn’t see Tommy again I would see her in court. She immediately put an ad in the paper with HER phone number on it (without telling me), and I got to work printing up posters and Fed Xing them to Kelsey. I also called the animal shelters, and Kelsey went looking for him, too. Three days later, Tommy was found a mile from Officer Dumb Ass’s house, and the lady called W’s phone number because that’s what was in the ad. W told her that Tommy was neglected and that she was to keep him. W never told me he had been found.

But after Kelsey put up a poster in a place I would never have thought of, the manager recognized the cat, and I told her the whole sad tale of what W and Officer Dumb Ass had done, and Kelsey went over to get Tommy. Kelsey had gone above and beyond the call of duty to find him, and I am forever grateful to her for that. She kept him locked up for the remaining six weeks until I got home, and she said he tried desperately to get out whenever she’d come. I know how lucky we were go get him back. But he has a knack for finding good hearted people to take care of him, and I was very thankful to the lady Valerie who had found him. She only had him a few days and was sad to see him go, so deeply had he wormed his way into her heart!

So I figured Tommy used up most of his nine lives on that misadventure. And I think he steered clear of W after that. I also told W that he would stop coming over her house if she would just stop throwing rotting food in her yard, as that attracted rats, and rats attracted cats. And so did grass that was 3 feet high. But that was way too much work for her - it was so much easier just to complain and cause other people and animals trouble. (Sigh!)

Last fall Tommy disappeared for 3 days, and showed up in great pain. He went right to the cat box and I thought he had another bladder infection (he’d had two before.) Even though I feed him Special Diet for urinary health, he still managed to get blockages. I took him right to the vet and they did tests, and gave him some antibiotics. His nails were shredded, as if he had been dragged, or had tried to claw his way out of something he was trapped in. We never did know what really happened - whether he’d been hit by a car, or had fallen from a high place, or had been kicked, or what. But the next day his pain was worse and he hadn’t voided all day, so I took him to the ER and the vet gave him a steroid shot and voided his bladder, and he mended very quickly after that. Boy, this guy had used up his nine lives several times over, I think.

Although our house was set way back from the road, Tommy did like to cross it to visit Evelyn Wotton and the Harrises. Both of them loved Tommy, too, and Evelyn was always telling me when he came over. She worried about him in the road, but she saw how careful he was in crossing it. Sometimes she’d carry him across the street, just to be sure. Evelyn had her own Tommy cat, but he was very shy and any time I went over there I’d be lucky to see a shadow if I saw anything at all of him.

It took Tommy a few months after his accident before he could hop onto my bed instead of clawing his way up. Evidently his hind end had been hurt, but he mended so beautifully he even dashed part way up a tree, and sometimes just dashed across the yard for no reason at all. The last few months of his life, he seemed like he was a very young cat - playing with a string I’d drag across the floor, stalking voles, fussing at the jays in that funny way that cats do to jays and crows.

But at 10 pm on January 29, Tommy started to meow quite loudly, which is very unusual for him, even when he wants to go out or come in. He acted like he was in a great deal of pain and I thought it was a twisted intestines or poison. I rushed him to the ER and he was diagnosed with asthma, which I didn’t even know he had or could get. He was having a very serious attack, and even two shots of steroid and bronchial relaxant didn’t help. Two hours later, after I had brought him home, he had a seizure and died. I have written so much about what happened that night that I just don’t think I can write any more here. It’s been a week, almost to the hour, that he died, and I still cry. But writing this has helped me remember the joy and adventures he brought to my son and me, and to honor his spirit - always cheerful, forgiving, and willing to curl up on my lap or in whatever room I happened to be in. I miss that he’s not on the deck waiting for me to drive up, or that that dark lump on my bed is just a shirt, and not Tommy napping. I still get up when I hear the wind on the screens instead of his claws plucking them like harp strings when he wants in. I miss not having his purring little head to scratch in the morning when I wake up, or having to angle my legs off to the side when he curled up in an inconvenient spot on the bed. I miss not having him to cradle like a baby, and his little paws touching my face as he purred.

Evelyn cried when I told her that Tommy died. And the next day she told me to go with her to the shelter and get a cat and she’d pay for it. Such a sweet lady! I told her I needed to wait. If I went South again this year, I’d want to wait til I got home to bring a new kitty here.

It helped a lot to read the responses to my letter on the Feline Asthma forum on Yahoo. By the time I even knew there was such a thing as feline asthma, all I could do was write that I learned too late. It helped to read from others, and from the www.petloss.com site that it’s natural to feel guilty that we didn’t do enough, or notice enough. I still don’t feel I am really ready for another little furry creature to trust me not to let it come to harm But I know as soon as I walk past a cage where a kitty puts out its paw to touch my face, that I’ve been adopted once again. There will never be another cat like Tommy.

He certainly made me a better person. Good bye my sweet lovebug.

Here is where he will be buried in Spring when the ground thaws, under the bird house at top of the arbor in the front yard:

Page 2 - what others have said about Tommy- CLICK HERE

For kitty animations http://cybergata.com/anim.htm

This site was updated February 7, 2007
cindy@cindymcintyre.com
Cindy McIntyre, Waldoboro, Maine