From Kyle -- Welcome to my blog. I hope my stories bring a smile to your face.

Goodbye Winston

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Today, I said goodbye to my cat, Winston. This blog will serve as his epitaph.

Winston came to us through a co-worker of Tanisha’s. He was found at the beach, wandering around a dumpster, with no mama. A tiny floof of a thing, barely six weeks old. He had medium length, chocolate colored fur, with these long, white-tips, and clear green eyes. He really was quite adorable.

When he came to us, we had Rufus and Jesse. Rufus was so excited to make friends he could barely stand it. We put Winston on the edge of our bed, and slowly let the dogs in close for an introduction. Rufus gently put in his big head to introduce himself, but Winston got scared. He hissed, fluffed his fur and showed his teeny-tiny claws. Keep in mind, Winston was MAYBE six-weeks old at the time…he could not have weighed more than 8oz. Rufus fell to the floor in fear. From that day on, Winston was in command.

He bonded to me quickly. He used to attack my arm while I watched TV. I would toss him across the room on the hardwood floors. He liked to slide, and when he got up, he’d run back over to attack my arm. “Again! Again! Again!” he’d say.

He was like that for the first year. He’d fall asleep on my shoulder when he was tired and  play-fight with me when he was awake.

When he was about a year old, his fur turned black. He lost all the white tips. He became an adolescent and turned into a jerk. Big-time. He literally bit the hand the fed him. He’d draw blood, too. This was not play fighting. He became mean. We were never sure what set him off. He just turned into a jerk. That lasted about nine more years.

People asked us why we put up with him. Why not get rid of him? If he was such a jerk, why keep him? Maybe he needed a different home…someplace else where he could grow and be happy. The thing is: yes, he was a pain-in-the-ass at times—but he was OUR pain-in-the-ass.

Things slowly started changing about four-years ago. Winston still wasn’t lovey—but he was tolerable. For nine-years, you could barely hold Winston in your arms for more than five seconds. Then, he suddenly allowed us to hold him for about thirty seconds. That’s progress. Then we got Summit. Summit was a game-changer for us. She’s a big girl, full of energy, and little fear. In fact, most times, I’m not positive she understands consequences. She’s not the type of dog that would think: If I do this, I could get hurt. She’s more like:LEEROY JENKINS! (If you aren’t familiar with that reference, watch the video—go to 1:20 and listen…you won’t regret it.) Winston did not like Summit…but only because Summit was so curious. She would follow Winston around the house. Poor Winston had to be up on furniture, or just stay upstairs, gated away from Summit, just to get some peace.

When Tanisha and I split, I got custody of Winston. He adapted quickly to the new house. In fact, I would say he thrived. It was just Winston, Bender, and me. To be honest, Bender never paid much attention to Winston. He started following me around the house. He still didn’t want to be held, but he wanted to be in the same room as me. He’d sleep on the bed with me—down at my feet, just out of reach. He’d lay down on the armrest of the couch while I watched TV. He was right next to me, and he’d stay there all-night purring as long as I didn’t touch him. If I pet him, he’d get up and leave…like he was offended.

On September 3rd, Winston caught a chipmunk in the yard. Yup…he was a hunter and a killer. I’ve attached a picture for your viewing pleasure.

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He was also greedy. I wanted to dispose of the chipmunk body, but Winston growled at me and ran off with the body! That little punk! I don’t know how much of the body he ate…but I image it was a good bit. Over the next few days, his appetite dropped. I didn’t think too much of it at first. He DID just eat a chipmunk. But, it got progressively worse. He lost about two-pounds over three-weeks. A year ago, he was just over 12lbs. Of course, he was fat back then and the vet asked me to drop some weight on him. I got him down to 8lbs 12oz back at the beginning of July. Tuesday of this week he was down to 6lbs 14oz!


Today, he was skin and bones. He was so weak he wobbled on occasion. When I brought him in, the vet gave me time to say goodbye, and then told me the procedure for the euthanasia.

“I’ll have to give him a shot in the belly. He’s lost so much weight we won’t be able to find a vein. I assure you, he’ll barely feel a thing. The medicine will be absorbed quickly, and will begin taking affect within a few minutes. Some cats go within two or three minutes. Some cats take a little longer, like ten to twelve minutes.”

I knelt down beside Winston, and pet him. He purred. The needle went in, and he turned his head to see what was happening, and then he turned back to me. The needle was still in him when his head dropped. I don’t even think the vet had fully depressed the plunger. He was gone in about fifteen seconds. The vet said she’d never seen a cat go so quickly. He was obviously ready.

Over the years I gave Winston a lot of shit. I made him the antagonist in some stories. I would tell people what a dick he was, and how he wasn’t lovey, or how he’d steal my food. The truth is: Winston was a good cat. He wasn’t a GREAT cat…but he wasn’t a bad cat either. He never scratched our furniture. He didn’t spray anywhere in the house. He only attacked Summit (no other dogs), and never used his claws to do so. No, he wasn’t lovey. He didn’t want to curl-up in your lap and be pet. He didn’t want hugs or kisses. He begged for food, and would steal food if you weren’t looking…but that’s the worst of it. He was our pain-in-the-ass cat. He is missed.

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