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When I was a child, I wanted above all things to have animals in my life. My mother was opposed to dogs, cats and other 4-legged creatures, so I had a succession of….......goldfish! My brother got the parakeets. I had one of those round fishbowls and always had 2 goldfish; the fancy ones with the googly eyes, fat bodies and flowing fins. One was always gold, and had the imaginative name of “Goldie”. The other was black. Yep, you guessed it: “Blackie”. When one would perish, as fish often do, I would bury the little body in the flower garden and erect a tiny wooden grave marker inscribed “Blackie 2” or “Goldie 4” as the case may be. No flushing down the toilet for MY fish. Of course the fish was duly replaced with a replica.
Later, when I was a teenager, my mother relented in the dog department and we got a neurotic terrier/chihuahua cross named Smokey. He was supposed to be OUR dog (me and my sibs), but he always much preferred my parents. Sometimes when my mother would complain about his care, my father would humorously remind her that she herself always said that “if we get a dog, I will be the one to take care of it.”
When I had a home of my own (well, I guess I kind of shared it with UltraDad), I wanted pets. We had a dairy, so I spent time feeding calves and raising orphan lambs on extra milk. We got a dog and I raised 3 orphan kittens on bottles. Bright Eyes, one of those tiny felines, grew up to become the mother of many. She cared deeply for her kittens but…......lets just say that her mind wasn’t as bright as her eyes. Once she chose to deliver her kittens in the bottom of a boat with several inches of water in it, and several of them drowned.
Those weren’t the only orphan kittens we would raise. Now we’ve arrived at the story of Toby. You may have heard me mention Toby before. I think he was probably less than 3 days old when Jim “apopted” him. Grandpa (the one of UltraBob’s hermit hero stories) convinced Jim that he should take the tiny black kitten home. His mother had kicked him out and would have nothing to do with him. (the kitten’s, not Jim’s, usually) Of course, as in the case of Smokey, the Mom of the family was the main caretaker of this little orphan. We had learned a bit since the days of Bright Eyes, Pudge and Mike, my first “litter”. We purchased special kitten feeding bottles and special orphan pet milk. We wiped Toby’s tiny bottom with a wet cloth so he would “relieve” himself and not become constipated. The mother cat will lick her offspring to achieve these results, but you gotta draw the line somewhere. Toby grew to be a large, handsome black cat with green eyes and white chest, belly and paws. His whiskers and one of his eyebrows was white and this gave him a quizical look. When Toby was about a year old, he had an accident. Our best guess is that he got under a car hood and was injured when the car was started. He came into the house the day after Thanksgiving leaving a trail of blood. The leg was broken, and we had the Vet splint it. Toby remained ill and feverish, only recovering when the leg was finally removed at the first joint. After this Jim nicknamed him “Tripod”.
I sometimes wondered if Toby experienced phantom pain in his stub, a phenomenom you hear about with human amputees. He would yowl and become extremely agitated for no apparent reason. He adapted well though and could still climb trees.
Toby was not a very nice cat, but he was always interesting. If he didn’t like the way you were petting him (or looking at him), he was liable to lash out with teeth and claws. I know that UltraBob was on the receiving end of Toby’s fury on several occasions. He had many neuroses.(Toby, but also UltraBob) One was a foam fettish. Yeah, you heard me. If foam (like cusions, mattresses, etc) was left unprotected, he was rip chunks out with his teeth; he just couldn’t help himself. Lately, he couldn’t bear a closed door. If he couldn’t gain access to the room (or closet) of his choice, he would pull big chunks of fur out of his own back! He loved yogurt and cookie dough, but couldn’t stand tuna. I have read that cats raised by humans sometimes are a bit odd and lack “cat social skills”, and Toby would seem to support this theory. He never got along with the other cats. He had a running feud with Tree Cat and would run from Polly (another house cat, much smaller than Toby). His favorite napping place was the middle of my bed.
Jim always referred to Toby as his “son”. Toby was especially fond of Jim and Johnny, but lately had been jumping on UltraDad’s lap when called (when he wanted to. He was, after all, a cat).
Well, as you will have guessed from my use of the past tense, Toby is no longer with us. I can still hardly believe it. I only noticed Tuesday night that he was sick, and today he is gone. In a phone conference, the Vet said it sounded viral, so medicine wouldn’t help. I feel terrible and perhaps responsible because for a year we had in our refrigerator cat vaccine just waiting for UltraDad to administer, but we never got around to it. Even if we had, I don’t know if that would have saved Toby’s life. So, Toby, this is your tribute. You made my life richer, fuller and much more interesting. I think you had a good life too.

UltraMom

I wish I knew how to insert a picture here; if so I’d let you see a photo of this extraordinary cat.