Big Guy, Big Heart

You could say I lost my best friend on Friday. "Underfoot" was just a cat, but he was so much more than "just a cat" to me. I am feeling the loss of his companionship keenly. Here is the story of our 13 years together.

THE BACKSTORY
Underfoot originally belonged to a colleague of my ex-husband when Jesse worked as head of the architectural model department at Development Design Group, an international architecture firm in Baltimore specializing in commercial developments (think shopping centers and retail complexes) all over the world. Jesse's coworker and friend, Lori Ferrara, owned (and still does) a large flat in the Station North section of Baltimore, which she shared with several cats. One of those cats was a kitten Lori had rescued from the "mean streets" of Baltimore, where he'd been fending for himself. She named the kitten, with his outsized but skittish personality and a habit of getting in the way, "Underfoot", and taught him to live in harmony with her other cats. Underfoot was coached in such social graces as not jumping up on any surfaces on which food is prepared or eaten. He was taught to allow his short coat of solid gray fur to be brushed regularly. He knew his name. He learned to come when called.

Like any cat, Underfoot loved to bask
in the sun

When Underfoot was about four years old, Jesse's brother Jay and Jay's wife, Susan, moved from their native Kentucky to Baltimore so that Jay could take a job at DDG with Jesse. Lori generously offered a portion of her flat as temporary living quarters to Jay and Susan. After about a year, Jay and Susan were able to move into their own apartment. By that time Susan had fallen madly in love with Underfoot, so she asked Lori if she could keep Underfoot. Lori graciously agreed.

In 2006, Susan became ill and moved back to Kentucky to be near her four adult children. Jay was working long hours with Jesse, and I was given a key to his apartment so that I could take care of Underfoot during Jay's extended absences. I visited Underfoot every day, cleaned his litter box, fed him and spent time playing with him. My affection for the large gray shorthair grew with every visit. I could tell he looked forward to the sound of my voice calling to him through the apartment door as I fiddled with the key. He began to be comfortable in my presence.

Underfoot had an outsized personality

A few months later Susan passed away unexpectedly in Kentucky. Jay was overcome by grief, and asked Jesse and me to take Underfoot permanently, as the cat's presence in Jay's apartment was too raw a reminder of Susan's passing. I was happy to make a home for the big gray cat. It had been five years since I'd had a cat or dog of my own. I had long been wishing for an animal companion.

LIFE WITH ME
In September 2006, Underfoot came to live with Jesse and me. My ancient farmhouse, constructed in 1862, has a small basement which was hand-dug in 1937 from the red clay earth beneath the kitchen when electricity came to suburban Baltimore County. This unfinished basement space with dirt walls was open to the crawlspace beneath the rest of the house, and therefore fair territory for all manner of raccoons, groundhogs and other critters to regularly visit, so the first thing we did was to enclose the subterranean room with "jail bars" (vinyl-coated wire closet shelving turned on its side) so as to create a secure place for litter boxes and cat food that would allow our new charge to see, feel, smell and hear the elements and wildlife outside without actually coming in contact with it, or its dangers. We pried open a long-painted-shut cat panel in the kitchen-to-basement door so that Underfoot could come and go into that underground space as he pleased. Underfoot was smart. With just a few treats for enticement, he learned quickly how to navigate the swinging wooden cat door.

Underfoot was always near me, by day
and by night

Jay was a chain smoker, and I believe that Underfoot came to me with an addiction to nicotine. I smoked only an occasional cigarette after my evening meal in those days, but whenever I would light up, Underfoot would jump onto my lap and strain to reach the trail of smoke wafting from the glowing tip. When I quit smoking completely in 2007, so did Underfoot.

Underfoot was not a small cat. Weighing in at a hefty 17 pounds, he was a big presence, full of personality with a surprisingly large vocabulary. Since I work mostly at home, Underfoot became my constant companion, spreading himself out across the desk in my home office as I typed away at my

Underfoot loved to spread himself out
across my desk while I worked

computer every day. He was nearby wherever in the house I was, even as I slept or read by the fire at night, or engaged in one of my pastimes. We talked constantly -- exchanging those nonverbal, gutteral feline noises between us that so many cats do as if we were having full conversations. He understood many English phrases, including "eat your dinner", "good boy" and "lie down" -- and was incredibly smart and resourceful.

For instance, like most old houses, the basement beneath my kitchen sports a stairwell which leads to an exterior wooden door that can be opened by lifting it up from outside. Over the years the framing around this exterior panel had shrunk, leaving a gap on one side of the plywood 4' by 4' door. The gap was small, no more than an inch wide and an inch tall. Underfoot liked to sit on the top concrete step inside the basement and peer though this tiny hole out onto the cement patio beyond. He'd watch the legs of birds and chipmunks scamper by. It seemed like an innocent pastime to me.

Underfoot and Ember play with a baby
ring snake they brought up from my
unfinished basement. I rescued the
snake and put it back outside 

Until it wasn't. One day I came home from conducting research for my longtime employer at the National Archives in Washington, D.C. and found feathers and a half-eaten avian body on my kitchen floor. There was Underfoot, proudly showing off his catch. How on earth did an "inside cat" manage to catch and kill an outside songbird? I was truly perplexed until I watched him peering through that gap in the door frame one day. Apparently, crouched on that top stair in the basement, Underfoot lay in wait for an innocent bird to walk by on the patio outside. In the flash of an instant, he was able to reach one front leg through the tiny gap between the exterior plywood door and its 2" by 4" framing, catch an unsuspecting bird with a single flick of his paw and pull it back through the gap into the basement. I was astounded at his dexterity.

As upset as I was about the demise of a beautiful songbird, I was more than impressed with Underfoot's considerable one-handed hunting prowess. I figured it was a fluke, likely to never happen again. Until it did. Over the course of several years, Underfoot caught a total of seven birds that way. It was when I came home from a day of research at the Library of Congress and found bright red cardinal feathers on my kitchen floor that I finally put my foot down and closed the gap between the exterior basement door and its framing.  But I never could suppress the pride I felt at Underfoot's hunting skill and the ingenuity with which he repeatedly pulled off such an amazing "sleight of paw".

Helping Jesse review project drawings
at my dining room table

Through the tough months during which Jesse and I made the difficult decision to end our marriage in 2007, Underfoot was there to comfort me. I shed more tears than you can imagine into that thick gray fur over the years. We were inseparable, Underfoot and I. Knowing Underfoot would be there to greet me as I got home from my research was comforting beyond words. And just because I boarded up the hole through which the birds had been caught in the basement didn't mean the gifts presented at my feet came to a stop. Any frog, mouse or grasshopper who wandered into the basement through the "jail bars" from the surrounding crawlspace was fair game for Underfoot, and he proudly showed off these occasional prizes to me.

Jesse and I remained best friends even after our separation, and his brother Jay had dinner with us frequently on Sunday evenings as he continued to struggle over the death of his wife. We knew Jay was overwhelmed by his grief, but we were devastated when Jay was found dead in his apartment in September of 2008. Underfoot seemed to cling to me even more closely after that.

A PLAYMATE

Underfoot let Elfie snuggle up
with  him for naps when she was little

Elfie, left, and Underfoot, right, loved
to spend time in my office as I worked

In 2009 I decided that a playmate might be a good distraction for my furry friend. A new trainer had taken a job at the stable where I kept my horse and brought with her a kitten she had adopted from a shelter in Virginia as she made her way northeast in a pickup truck to Maryland from Oklahoma. No sooner had she set down her gear at the stable than she was called to accompany the stable owner to a horse show in another state. The kitten was to be left all alone in the barn. Frightened of the nine barn cats and not knowing her way around, the kitten kept trying to venture up to the stable farmhouse with the people, but the farmhouse contained a pair of Pit Bulls who would have made short work of a six-week-old ball of fur. I offered to take the kitten in, and the gray and white bundle went home with me that day. I named her "Lightfoot", for her four white paws, which I soon shortened to "L.F.", to be pronounced "Elfie". From the moment Elfie joined the household, Underfoot  became a terrific mentor and companion to her, looking after the kitten, playing with her, and letting her snuggle up with him for naps. They became fast friends, and although they were not inseparable companions (Underfoot liked to stay downstairs on the main level of the house with me; Elfie considered the upstairs bedrooms her domain), they spent the next ten years together in relative harmony.

Little Ember had to wear an infant's
onesie to protect her burn scars

In 2012 I decided to adopt a third cat. Underfoot was now 12 years old and Elfie was three. All they did was sleep all day and I felt both could stand to lose a pound or two. I thought that a bouncy new kitten might be just the thing to breathe a little liveliness into my lethargic feline household. And it was.

Little Ember was a tiny black Bombay, a rescue who had been set afire by a juvenile delinquent in Baltimore City and severely burned. She'd lost the cartilage from both her ears, and had almost lost her tail. She underwent a number of surgeries to repair the deep burns along her spine both before and after she came into my custody, and for two years she had to wear a little shirt I designed from an infant's onesie to protect her burn scars from compulsive licking. I named my new kitten "Ember" in keeping with the vowel-first theme and hoped that Underfoot and Elfie would take to her and she to them (you can read all about little Ember in my previous posts here, here, here, here, and here). I needn't have worried.

Underfoot loved Ember. We were
such a happy family!

Both Underfoot and Elfie quickly accepted high-spirited little Ember, who bounced off walls and ran amok as if she was full of jumping beans. After a couple of years, Ember didn't need to wear her protective shirts anymore, and my three fur-babies and I settled into a contented and happy coexistence. When they weren't napping, my three "children" spent time watching the "squirrel channel" and the "bird channel" through my dining room windows, where I had strategically placed bird feeders for my own closeup viewing pleasure as well as theirs. I positioned fluffy cat beds on the radiators in my home office and in the dining room, and Underfoot, as he had with Elfie, soon taught Ember the art of spreading himself as broadly as possible across the work papers on my desk. 

In 2016, little Ember was suddenly felled by some previously undiagnosed illness over Labor Day weekend. By the time I got her to the vet she had lapsed into acute diabetic ketoacidosis with major organ failure. There was no reviving her, although the vet tried mightily. I was heartbroken, never imagining that my older two cats would outlive the youngster. It was two years before I felt ready to try adoption again.

ANOTHER TRY

In 2018 I adopted two kittens from a
feral litter: Sojo, left, and Stache

But in early 2018 my heart opened wide for a pair of kittens from a feral litter: two little girls, one black (as Ember had been) and one gray and white like Elfie. By this time Underfoot was a stately 18 years old, and the idea of getting used to not one, but two newcomers vying for Mom's attention in the household did not appeal to him at all. The black kitten, whom I named Sojourner (Sojo for short) was really wild, a shy girl who didn't cotton to anyone but me. The gray and white kitten, whom I named "Stache" for the smudge of gray fur above her lip, was far more laid back and friendly. All she wanted to do was to curl up in someone's lap and purr.

Despite his protestations, Underfoot began to accept the kittens and was just getting to know and like little Stache when tragedy struck again. Stache suffered oxygen deprivation during her spay surgery which caused seizures, a stroke, and within a few days, her death. Left with only the wild and cagey Sojo, I wasn't sure how Underfoot and Elfie would adapt to this less than sweet-tempered interloper, but eventually something of a truce was established.

Eventually, Underfoot learned to
tolerate Sojo's presence in the house

A WONDERFUL LIFE

For the past year and a half my little feline family has coexisted contentedly; Elfie ruling over the upstairs rooms, Underfoot enjoying his kingdom on the main level, and Sojo dividing her time between the two. Sometimes I'd find her lounging on my bed upstairs with Elfie, other times she'd be out on the sunporch/laundry room floor with Underfoot.

One of Underfoot's most endearing habits during our years together was to reach up to me with his front legs and ask to be picked up -- just like a toddler might do. For frequent visitors around whom he felt comfortable, I could even entice Underfoot to ask to be picked up on command. Once hoisted, I would drape Underfoot over my shoulder and carry him around as I went about my business. He just wanted to be in my arms and, until several minutes of his extra weight became too much, I was just as happy to have him there.

In July 2018, Jesse and I built
a cat tree in my dining room

Underfoot going for the
Kleenex

In expressing her condolences to me on the day Underfoot died, his original owner, Lori, relayed her memory of how impish Underfoot could be. "He was trouble, but so much fun," she recalled. I agreed that Underfoot was a lot of fun, but I don't remember him getting into lots of trouble, except for his love of Kleenex. We've all seen videos of cats unraveling an entire roll of toilet paper. Underfoot never bothered with toilet paper, but put a box of Kleenex anywhere within his reach and he would pull out every tissue, one by one, and shred them all. Just a few weeks ago I caught him yanking tissues from a box I'd inadvertently left within reach. He was definitely an imp.

Underfoot taught Sojo the finer points
of spreading himself across my desk

At the beginning of 2019, Underfoot lost a lot of weight. I grew concerned and called my mobile vet. Dr. Seibel ran tests and did a thorough examination. My big boy had a gum infection and some broken teeth, which would need to be treated at a brick and mortar vet. We started Underfoot on antibiotics and I switched him exclusively to canned food from dry kibble. My longtime brick and mortar vet cleaned Underfoot's teeth but advised against surgery or sonograms and X-rays to determine what might be the root cause of his weight loss. "Underfoot is the equivalent of a hundred-year-old man!" Dr. Brown exclaimed. "Have you ever seen any overweight people live to be one hundred?" I had to admit I had not. The vet surmised that Underfoot probably had cancer somewhere in his body, perhaps from the years of "smoking" with Jay. He suggested that I forego any expensive diagnostic tests or treatments and just keep Underfoot comfortable for whatever time he had left. I agreed with that assessment.

Sojo, from left, Underfoot and Elfie
curled up in heated beds in my office 

When Underfoot began to vomit clear bile in the middle of the night, I questioned my mobile vet. Dr. Seibel explained that, like horses, cats need to have something in their digestive tracts at all times, and now that Underfoot could no longer help himself to the dry kibble whenever he liked because of his dental fragility, and was dependent on me for nourishment from canned food alone, too many hours were lapsing between the time I went to bed at night and the time I got up in the morning. Vomiting clear bile was a sign of hunger, she said.

Underfoot was known for his unusual
poses. This was called the
"double-arm extension"

So in addition to feeding him right before I went to bed at night and as soon as I got up each morning, I began to get up every night at 3:00 a.m. to feed my beloved cat in the middle of the night. It took about twenty minutes from start to finish, as I took care to make absolutely sure he'd had his fill before returning to my slumber. Of course it was a hassle, and sometimes it was difficult to go back to sleep. But the vomiting stopped immediately and never came back. Underfoot gained weight and his health stabilized. At that point I didn't know how much time Underfoot had left, but seeing him return to his playful self and having his weight stabilize showed me that my efforts were paying off.  I told myself that no matter if he lived for a few months or several years I would continue my nighttime regimen, so happy was I to see the difference it made in his quality of life.

So a few weeks ago, when Underfoot's breathing began to become labored, I wasn't taken completely aback. I knew the end was coming and would probably come this year. He had already lived longer than either vet thought possible after his weight loss in January. Then, in late August, I broke my leg and was no longer able to get down the stairs for Underfoot's nightly feeding without a Herculean effort. Enter Jesse to the rescue. Despite being divorced for several years now, Jesse is still my near-constant companion, and he generously agreed to stay with me until I am back on both of my feet, which likely won't be until mid-November. So Jesse dutifully began arising every night to give Underfoot his 3:00 a.m. feeding. That was nice, in a way, because Jesse and Underfoot had a chance to bond again. Jesse took his time with Underfoot at night, just as I did by day. Underfoot was surrounded by love and he knew it.

In 2009, Underfoot, left, and Elfie
posed for a perfect Christmas card
photo as they "waited for Santa"

Underfoot's appetite remained good, but the heaving of his abdomen with every breath in early September alarmed me. I knew I wasn't going to take any heroic measures to prolong his life. Still, I wanted an assessment of what was happening, so I called my mobile vet. Dr. Seibel came on Thursday and put her stethoscope to Underfoot's chest. His lungs were "so noisy," she said, that she couldn't hear his heartbeat for the commotion. She said his lungs were so filled with fluid that his chest muscles weren't strong enough to help him breathe on their own, so he was utilizing his abdominal muscles to help, hence the heaving with every breath that I observed. She surmised that wherever his cancer had originated, it had now metastasized to his lungs. When she finally was able to detect a pulse, she said his heartbeat was irregular. "Breathing arrhythmia," she said, was caused by the intense effort needed for every breath.

Still, she noted, Underfoot was eating and drinking and producing healthy-looking litter-box deposits. He didn't seem to be in physical distress. "Watch for breathing through an open mouth," she said. "Or noisy breathing." After she left, I decided that I could not let him suffer. I would take the weekend to say goodbye and then call her to come euthanize my darling boy early next week.

At 19, Underfoot's face reflected the
demeanor of a "grumpy old man" 

But apparently my sweet Underfoot wanted to die on his own terms. I was off at the surgeon's the following morning, getting the cast sawed off my leg, the 31 surgical staples pulled out, and a new cast put on. When I returned home, Underfoot lay dead on the floor where he had been basking in a sunbeam in my sunporch/laundry room. He had come to me that morning as I worked at my computer, which usually means he wants to eat, but when I put the food down for him, he sniffed at it and looked away. I knew something was wrong. Instead, I spent time cooing at him and snuggling with him. I am so glad I did.

Rest easy, my sweet Underfoot. You
made me a very happy mom for
many years 

In the end, there is an interesting twist to this story. Jesse keeps a small photograph of his brother Jay in the visor on the passenger side of his car. With a broken leg, I can't drive myself to the doctor, so Jesse took me in his car on Friday. We were halfway to the appointment when Jay's photo suddenly fell out of the visor and into my lap. I glanced over at Jesse with a perplexed look.  "It's the 20th of September," Jesse said. "Today's the day Jay died eleven years ago."  We decided that Jay was just "saying hi" to us.

But when we returned to my house from the doctor appointment and found Underfoot had crossed the Rainbow Bridge, we changed our minds. Perhaps Jay was telling us he had come for Underfoot, to relieve my furry friend of his discomfort and to bear him on to Susan, who will cherish and adore my beloved Underfoot until I can be reunited with him someday.
Lynell

“Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It is the price of love.”
~ Anonymous