Percy

My wife and I initially intended just to help out Golden Oldies by fostering kitties needing adoption. But in October 2018 we saw a Golden Oldies ad with Percy’s picture in the Weekly, and it was love at first sight. When we went to see Percy at his foster mom’s, he was too frightened to come out from under the bed to meet us, but it didn’t matter: We knew he was coming home with us forever.

As introverts ourselves, we could tell that this shy nine-year-old guy had been through hard times and needed us. This was even more clear later when we saw his medical records: Forced to live outside after his people split up, he’d been taken to the vet after being attacked by other cats. He had defensive wounds and vegetation stuck all through his long, matted fur. Meantime, his records also included multiple remarks by vets commenting on what a nice gentle kitty he was.

Since we live in the country and near a busy road, it was clear that Percy — originally named Sweet Pea, which fitted his nature but not his true stature as a dapper gentleman cat — would be an indoor kitty in order to keep safe. But when he first arrived with us, he was so frightened that he hid in a closet for several weeks, not wanting to be approached or touched.

He seemed utterly miserable and terrified, but slowly thawed and expanded his horizons. I discovered a “secret weapon” which helped tame him: Unusually among cats I had known, he really liked having his entire face rubbed — hand on the muzzle from front to back — not just his cheeks or the top of his head.

Percy was entirely typical among cats in many ways:  hiding when someone came to the door; deciding he didn’t like a particular food any more when we’d just bought a case of it; getting the zoomies; being a menace to Christmas trees; and raising a fuss when the bathroom door was closed.  On the other hand, he amazingly had no interest in bags or boxes!

When Percy kneaded, he unusually did so with his back paws as well as his front ones. We called this his “four paw drive” or just would say “look, Percy’s in drive.” These sessions were accompanied by a musical burbling purr and his staring into the distance as if praying to the kitty gods. He would complain if interrupted before he was through! 

Percy was a legendary lap cat. I have chronic fatigue syndrome and need to rest a lot, and he was all too happy to take advantage, grabbing my lap or legs whenever and wherever available. If I had my knees raised or was trying to type on a computer, he’d jump up on top and try to push any opposition aside. “I’m your laptop!”

We have a vintage-style home bar and make a habit of sitting there about 5:00 for “cocktail hour.” It was only a month or so before Percy came to the bar every time, targeting my lap as intently as if I had a mouse on it. Our fluffy barfly wouldn’t be deterred, even if I pretended to ignore him or waggled my stool from side to side.

Once he was in place, he’d get twenty minutes or so of cheek scritches before finally letting me know he’d had enough. And if I got distracted by my drink, a snack, or conversation, he’d turn his head around and look up at me as if to say, “Did I tell you you could stop, daddy?”

As many people with ME/CFS experience, acquaintances tend to gaslight you or dismiss your illness by saying “oh, I get tired too.” Medical professionals also doubt you or say they can do nothing. But Percy was with me for hours per day, letting me know that even though I can’t do all the things I used to do or want to do, I am still worthwhile. 

While Percy was devoted to me, he did not ignore my wife, who works from home. Every day, he’d report to her office as supervisor. Sometimes sitting near the keyboard or behind a monitor keeping an eye on things, sometimes sleeping on a shelf with a warm router as his pillow, and quite often making a game of stealing her chair whenever he got a chance.

Whether it was swatting toy birds, chasing hair ties, crumpling bath mats, or cannoning from a bedroom dresser down onto our bed, Percy never stopped being playful. So much so that we used to joke, “Senior cat my ass — they gave us a kitten.”

We always thought that one day, there’d actually be signs Percy was a senior. Trouble jumping up. Arthritis, perhaps. Maybe grumpy miaows when I picked him up. But no: Percy never gave any signs. He was his loving, knowing, comforting, empathetic self until the last couple of weeks when he was taken from us by an aggressive cancer.

Percy was the light of our life. We will remember him forever.

~by Jon