We said goodbye forever to Oscar on June 12. The sadness has come in waves; I can talk plainly about him or his passing one day, then the next everything gets caught in my throat when I’m reminded of him. We adopted him on February 21, 2015. Ten years and change doesn’t feel like enough time at all. If you know me, you know how much I love my cats, and you know how much I loved Oscar extra. He had such a personality about him, I’ve always said he was a lover AND a fighter. He greeted everyone at the door like a happy dog. And anyone who came into the house got the same warning- Oscar loves to be loved, but he’ll turn in an instant. We’ve all been bitten and scratched by him, many of our family and friends have too. He had his triggers, many remained mysteries to us. But his endearing side always won out.
I always wished I could hear his story from him. He was found on the streets in Southern California with a broken and bloodied tail. Under the care of the Orange County animal shelter his tail was amputated, and while there he developed a respiratory illness and was placed on their euthanize list, dated for Christmas Eve of 2014. A private rescuer pulled him before that date and rehabilitated him. His right eye was constantly weepy, and it was discovered that he had a deformed eyelid. His eye was removed while under the care of Kristi, the lady who rescued him from the shelter, and as I was browsing Craigslist one day the subject line “one-eyed tailless cat needs a friend” caught my eye. I reached out, and asked if anyone else had expressed interest in him. Turns out, I was the only person to message. I knew he belonged with me and Jer.
He came with his name- Oscar Wilde. He was striking- one ocean blue eye and long white fur with flame tips. I came to realize a few years later that he must have had some Maine Coon in him- so much fluff in his ears and in his paws, and such a unique face. He was brought to our house for a meet and greet, and so that we could be vetted in person. The moment the cat carrier door was opened, he waltzed out onto the living room floor and claimed our apartment as his own. It was official, and he knew it.
Oscar proved immediately to be social. He was with me anywhere I went in the apartment. He slept in our bed from the first night. He made himself known, always underfoot or in the corner of my eye. He was wild. Only 1-2 years old so he still had some kitten qualities, but he was also just a bit … unique … crazy … wild … unhinged, honestly. He chased me around the apartment in his early days with us, claws out, teeth ready to puncture. It was playful with a side of terrorizing (or maybe terrorizing with a side of playful). He clearly needed an animal friend, and when I saw that the woman who rescued him had another one-eyed cat who needed a home, I figured “why not?”
More than a hint of wild
Emmy Lou came with the name Jackie, but we were figuring on a EGOT of kitties someday, and Emmy sounded like a nice name to add to our pack. Quite an opposite from Oscar, she is a stout brown tabby who had been living in an outdoor/semi-feral colony being cared for by wonderful people who wanted them to thrive. We got her at 5-6 years old, wizened by her outdoor time and the years she had on her new playmate. She did not care for being social with us or with Oscar, but he had other plans. When we first met her she stayed in the cat carrier on the floor, and Oscar immediately zoned in on her and sat right in front of her. In the weeks that followed we didn’t see Oscar as much as we were used to- he was spending all of his energy sitting patiently near Emmy wherever she was hiding; under the bed, behind the couch, in the closet- she wouldn’t let anyone too close but he tested her boundaries 24/7.
His efforts finally won her over, and I credit Oscar and his big personality to Emmy coming out of her shell and eventually being the (mostly) friendly cat she is today, 10 years later. Having the two of them settled Oscar’s crazy down, and I no longer needed to worry about him bounding after my ankles with his claws out.
Later that year in October, I found a 3lb kitten in a parking lot, super friendly and chatty. I couldn’t just leave her there, so I brought her home and put her in the bathroom away from the other cats until I was able to think about the next steps. Jeremy got home from work and fell in love with her- Oscar and Emmy were not lap cats of any sort at the time, and this little kitty just wanted to be held and loved for infinity. So we added to our cat EGOT that day, naming her Toni Wonder. She was secluded in the bathroom for a few days, and Oscar was frantic to get close to her, always waiting by the door, and often sticking his paws under it to show his efforts. When they got to meet face-to-face, he was incredible with her. I’d find them cuddled up together, his paws and legs literally curled around her in a hug, and he would often groom her, to the sounds of both of their loud purrs. Emmy and Toni tolerated each other, and had their sweet moments together, but Oscar was the glue that bonded the three of them.
I was a few months pregnant with Harrison when we brought Toni home, and Oscar seemed to have an awareness of the changes that were happening in our family. While I labored at home, he was by my side. He greeted Harrison immediately when we came back from the hospital with him, and throughout much of my post-partum time nursing on the couch, cuddling in bed, watching my baby with so much wonder- Oscar was right there with me.
Our next three boys were born at home, and Oscar was a constant presence throughout the entirety of each birth. After Dylan’s birth, my midwives commented on how he was next to them the whole time, intently observing. He climbed into bed with me to meet Dylan in the first few minutes after he was born.
Griffin’s birth was so fast that I hardly had time to get my bearings once I was really in it, but looking back at a video of his birth, Oscar was there on a chair next to me, as close as he could get without getting in the way, watching with such a curiosity, even with some sort of anxious care, like he wanted to make sure I was okay. He continued to be in the action after Griffin was born, never more than a few feet away from me. He yet again climbed in bed with us once we were settled and stood right at Griffin’s head, like a guard cat. I enjoyed many weeks of post-partum snuggles with Oscar at our side, until his behavior started to change, and he became more solitary, indicative of his failing health.
Griffin was 10 weeks old when we had to say goodbye forever to Oscar. I’m sad that Griffin won’t grow up knowing Oscar, but certainly thankful for the little bit of time that they overlapped. I’d known for a little over a year that Oscar might be the first of our cats we’d need to say bye too, and my heart was gutted at the idea in general, but also specifically at the idea of him not welcoming our fourth baby into the world with us. Oscar has been such a strong presence with each birth and newborn, and I’m so glad to have had my “doula cat” in full personality so close to his last day.
Oscar had many quirks. One was a habit of walking around the house with random items in his mouth, while meowing loudly and sorrowfully. He would do this most often while we were out of the house, and I’d come home to find one of my slippers on our bed where he slept, stuffed animals around the floor, dirty laundry misplaced from where it had been left. He would do this at night sometimes when we were in bed, and if I called to him he would come up the stairs with whatever he had and bring it up in bed with us, typically a kitchen towel or a dirty pair of underwear. Sometimes he’d grab something that was far too big or heavy to carry, but he’d do his best, walking awkwardly while it trailed under his belly. Never a lack of amusement from his unique personality.
I have a small jar of coconut oil that I use to remove makeup at the end of the day. Oscar would always come find me when he heard the jar open up, and it was our nightly routine for me to give him some on my finger, him happy for a nighttime snack. This nightly routine is a continual reminder of his missing presence.
Oscar was often with me whenever I practiced playing violin. For a spell I recorded my practices to post with the title "Playing out of tune with a baby and a cat." Oscar was the only cat to consistently hang out with me, simultaneously disliking hearing the violin but wanting to be as close to me as possible. Occasionally he'd swat at the bow as it moved up and down.
Oscar, along with Emmy and Toni, was a cross-country cat. Born in Southern California, he road-tripped to Kentucky with Jer and his Dad when we moved from Los Angeles. Nine months in Kentucky and then another road trip with me and Harrison and Dylan (and early pregnancy with Denver!) to eastern Pennsylvania.
Oscar enjoyed being outdoors, and would explore on a leash for the most part. He escaped the house a few times; when we lived in Kentucky we found out the hard way that he could open the sliding door of the walk-out basement we lived in. We woke one morning to find it wide-open and Oscar nowhere to be found. Jer went on a frantic search through the neighborhood and found him exploring just a few houses away, not a care in the world. While we were living in Quakertown there was a night that we somehow left both the garage door and the house door to the garage open. Not one of our finer moments. I was petting Oscar early in the morning when he jumped into bed asking for breakfast, and wondering why I kept pulling burrs and twigs out of his fur. Once I got out of bed I realized our error, and after deciding to ignore how the night could have gone for our cats (we lived in the middle of the woods), I was thankful they were all inside and we could laugh about their overnight exploring adventure.
Oscar’s ultimate decline snuck up on me; my world had just changed enormously welcoming Griffin into our family, and I wasn’t the main caregiver for the cats for a spell. All at once, as it seemed, he stopped eating and lost a lot of weight. He was less present around the house, preferring to sleep in a specific spot under the couch day and night. I noticed his breath smelling very bad one evening, and after realizing the implications of it all (chronic kidney disease) the grieving process really started. After a truly agonizing few days, I called a mobile vet service to come to our home to help us say bye to him; I couldn’t handle the idea of stressing him out on a car ride in his last hour. The boys and I took him outside to give him time to explore on that last day. Harrison and I were present for his final moments, filled with pets and cuddles, as he drifted off laying next to me on the couch. I gave Emmy and Toni ample opportunity to come to their own understanding of Oscar’s passing, and then brought him to my parent’s farm where Jeremy met up with us. All six of us were together while we laid Oscar to rest among many other beloved family pets and special livestock.
Oscar was never “just” a cat. He was a constant companion; while he appreciated all people and even most other animals he met, he chose me to be his person and we had a connection that I have not experienced with any other animal in my life. There will always be animals in my life, but there will never ever be another Oscar.
