For a while, he'd claw and bite for no reason, attacking us just for looking at him. We had him in his own room in an upstairs room out of fear for any diseases and how he'd treat the other two cats we had, and a couple days after we picked him up I left the window open for him. He pushed through the screen and onto a small roof. He was terrified, trying to find a way down back to the world he knew. Dan had to lure him back in with canned food. It took him a while to come around, but we were patient and when he finally did, he was the sweetest. He still had his moments when he snapped, but he also loved being pet between his ears. The first time he laid on my chest, I didnt dare breathe I was so scared he would attack me. Every time we walked through the door, he'd prance over to meet us, weaving in and out of our legs as we walked, meowing. Sometimes in the middle of the night I'd toss and turn in bed and the blanket would end up on the floor. Rusty would climb into it and curl up in a ball and stay there all night. He loved laying in old boxes, and canned food was his favorite. He'd come running to the kitchen if he heard a can open, even if it wasnt food for him. When we'd feed it to him, he wouldnt even wait for us to put the bowl on the floor; he'd stand on his back legs and try to stick his face in it. When he ate, he left a big mess on the floor, his face a canned food mess. It'd get stuck in his whiskers and sometimes even in his nose. He escaped a second time, out an open window again, and disappeared for about two weeks. There wasnt a day when we didnt go out looking for him, rain or shine. Turns out, he was just down the road, living under a porch. Thankfully, one of the missing posters we posted around the neighborhood just happened to be on a telephone poll right outside of the house he was staying under, and the owner called us and had him in her lap when we went to see if it was him. He had lost some weight and was scared, but put some of it back on after we got him back and he was happy as ever to be sheltered again.
His disease got the best of him, and he started vomiting constantly and slowly dropping weight. He started eating from his litter box and stopped eating cat food. At first I thought he stopped eating because of the cheap food I bought while Dan was away for a week. I caught him eating from his litter box that same week. Again, I thought it was because of the cheap food. We brought him into his vet, and they discovered he was anemic. They gave us some vitamins to give him to make up for what he was lacking. We put the vitamins in canned food, he would eat some of it then not touch it again. We tried putting it in tuna, and again he only touched some of it then didnt eat. I'd have to throw the rest out because it went bad. He would get all excited when he knew he was being fed, but when we put the bowl down on the floor he'd sniff at it, then walk away without touching it. Then he stopped getting excited over food. He was still trying to eat out of his litter box. When I tried to stop him, he'd walk across the room and go on the floor. He started spending most of his days in an old box, only coming out to sniff at his food, and occasionally take a quick drink of water just to return back to his box, most of the time without touching his food. There was one day he sniffed around his litter box, and I thought he was just going to eat it so I shooed him away. He walked across the room and started going. I did something I regret horribly to this day; I yelled at him and swatted his butt for going on the floor. He wasnt feeling good and I was screaming at him. It happened twice. He was terrified of me after. Every time I tried to pet him, or even walked anywhere near him, he'd stare at me with a scared look in his eyes and often ran in the opposite direction. Trust me, I'm kicking my own ass hard every day for doing what I did to him.
The heartbreaking day came when he was in the kitchen and let out a loud, deep meow and stumbled into the living room like he was drunk. It happened twice in the same day, and later that night he didnt even know his own name. His eyes were darting back and forth, and he couldnt even stand up. We brought him into an emergency vet. He was weighed, and he had lost almost a pound from the day we last brought him to his regular vet just days before. he let the assistant pick him up, put him on the scale take his temperature without putting up a fight. Every other time we brought him in, he'd at least fuss when he was touched and needed a few extra hands to hold him down. Not a peep, not even a flinch this time. They said they hate to say it, but it might just be time to let him go. They gave us a little while alone with him before bringing the permission forms out for us to sign to euthanize him. It was the hardest paper I've ever had to sign. I almost didnt, not wanting to say goodbye, denying these were the last few minutes he'd be around. I wanted just one more night with him to give him all the love we could. But he was suffering, and if we had kept him even one more night it would have made it that much harder. After several attempts and what felt like forever of hesitation and denial, I slowly signed. They asked if we wanted to hold him while they did it. Dan gave me a look as if saying "no, I cant do it, that will be too hard" but I said yes, bring him back out here. If I didnt hold him while they did it, I'd regret it for the rest of my life. It was bad enough we weren't doing it at home, he was terrified, I wasnt about to have him go without at least one of us there for him. They brought him back to give him something to calm him, then brought him back out wrapped in a blanket and put him in our arms. He weakly tried to get away, knowing something was about to happen. The vet explained how the drug worked, then explained how his eyes would remain open after. She counted down... And injected him. It took mere seconds for him to fall over, his bright green eyes staring but seeing nothing. My heart tore open that night, the worst feeling in the world having something you love dying in your arms. But I am glad he was in our arms when he went, at least he had that comfort. I asked for a clump of his fur and a paw print. While I'm happy with his fur, they gave us a very poor quality paw print in clay and it's barely visible. They gave us a few minutes alone with him after he passed. It was extremely difficult walking out of there with an empty carrier. I got literally no sleep that night. I was haunted by his meows. I kept hoping I'd see him come out of his box to go eat or for attention. I kept hoping I'd pull on the blanket, trying to cover up only for it to be weighed down by him laying on it on the floor. Hell, I even hoped I'd hear him get sick. All I got was a heavy silence. The morning after, I had a doctor's appointment. My eyes were sagging, pink, purple and red from crying and lack of sleep, still filled with tears, my face paler than usual looking like absolute crap. The nurse noticed how beaten up I looked, asked if everything was alright... "Rough night last night..." was all I could say before choking up.
I kept everything the way it was before we brought him in for a little while. The canned food and tuna dried up, but I didnt touch it. It was scattered all over the floor, and stuck to it. I didnt vacuum or mop it. His box sat there, empty, in the same position it was in the last time he came out of it. I didnt clean his litter box for months; I just hid it in the laundry room. It's gross, I know, but I just couldnt bring myself to clean it. All I could do was cry. I sat around, reliving that night over and over again. I looked around, seeing him everywhere. I was an awful wreck. But the other two cats were living in the bedroom, and they needed to come out. So with tears in my eyes, I slowly cleaned up. Dumped the food out, put his favorite box and litter box in the laundry room, vacuumed and mopped the dry food off the floor and brought the other two out. We have Rusty's ashes sitting on the window sill, next to a card that his regular vet had sent in sympathy. I look at it everyday and miss him more and more. His favorite box is still sitting in the laundry room. I dont think I'm going to throw it out. Sometimes, I swear I can still hear that deep, vocal meow. I go looking... But find nothing.
~10*16*11~
"I'll miss you my buddy
I'll miss you my friend
I promise my love for you
Will never end"
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