Needles & Hooks

Getting Mough was sort of random. Scott had already chosen Chutney, the fiesty tortie kitten. We wanted a pair and there were 3 brothers to choose from. At first, I picked the solid grey, then I changed my mind and picked Mough because with his tuxedo markings, he matched Chutney. While he was solid grey, when he was younger, if you looked closely, you could see faint tabby striping. He had a faint “O” marking on his sides around his belly. We used to call it “Mough’s O”.

His name was not random. We had to wait a bit to take them home so the adoption people could bathe them and get them ready for us. So while we ate dinner, we talked about names. Chutney was Scott’s selection and all I could think of was “Mo”, but I thought that didn’t sound exotic enough next to Chutney. So Scott, ever the wordsmith, came up with the creative spelling, pronounced like “dough”.

While Chutney was the opinionated and high strung one, Mough was always, well, like dough. Maleable and tolerant. He always sought out love and would let you carry him around like a baby. He also let me play with his feet as long as I liked, and cat paws are a particular fascination of mine.

Scott taught him how to talk and he was very vocal. He always had something to say. And if I was talking on the phone, he’d have to chime in because he couldn’t see anyone else I was talking to. I think he also just liked to hear himself talk. He had a crisp loud voice with lots of different inflections and vocalizations. Before Mough, I never really knew that cats could be so expressive.

There wasn’t a box that Mough didn’t love. Every single one that came into the house he had to investigate. Chutney would usually lurk around outside them, cautiously sniffing, but Mough just jumped right in. And it was more than boxes, he’d climb into bags and cabinets and behind books on shelves. And there wasn’t a piece of paper on the floor that he didn’t think was intended as a bed for him.

Mough also loved water. Loved, loved, loved it. Clean, cold, fresh water was his favorite treat. He asked for it specifically when he was a young cat, leading me ever closer to his bowl until he stood over it and yelled at me until I poured fresh and he lapped it up enthusiastically. After that, we’d make a big show of pouring fresh water from the Brita pitcher every day and he’d always come to watch. And a glass was never safe around him.

Bathtubs were the perfect combinations of all his loves - a box that produced water and amplified his loud voice. As a young cat, he’d jump in the tub and howl just to hear the echoes. As an older cat, he demanded I turn on the tap. In his last year, that was the only water he felt was fresh enough to drink. He was also a companion of mine when I’d take bubble baths, carefully balancing around the edges of the tub and leaning over to sniff the bubbles and water. He only fell in once.

Mough was a very polite cat. If I was sitting on the couch ignoring him, he’d sit next to me and stare at me. If I didn’t respond to the staring and a polite meow, he’d reach out a paw and pet my shoulder or face. Sort of a “see, I’m the cat, right here”. Since Chutney died, I started letting him into the bedroom at night, I didn’t think it was right to shut the door and force him to be alone. And so he’d curl up next to my pillow and wake me up early by reaching out and petting my face. I’d look up and he’d be looking at me, inches away.

Mough was invasively cute. It wasn’t enough to simply sit on my lap. He had to climb my chest and sort of perch there tail in my face, weight pinning me down. It didn’t matter if I was knitting or reading or doing something else. He had to climb right on top and get close. It could be a pain in the ass, but how could you push him away when he was so cute?!

Mough’s health problems started late last year, when he had a sudden crash and spent a few days in the hospital. Turns out, he had problem kidneys just like Chutney. I thought I was going to lose him then, but I was able to nurse him back to health. All those years he sat on the other side of the bathroom door and howled while we gave Chutney her fluid, he learned what that was all about.

In recent months he started having trouble eating and his weight dropped dramatically. And he was really annoyed by all of the meds and vitamins I tried to force into him. He even got a reputation at the vet for being difficult to pill. He also stared finding innovative new places to hide and hang out. Each week he had a new place to chill. It started worrying me as I feared he was trying to find a place to die. But he just seemed to be bored. One week it was behind some books on a low bookshelf. Another it was under the couch. Another it was on one of my placemats on the dining table. No matter how much of a bad cat he was, I just let him do what he wanted because he was showing spunk and that made me smile.

His most recent hang out was on my bed, tracking piles of cat litter in with him. But he was so happy to snuggle close to me at night, and I liked finding myself awake at 3am and being able to reach out and pet him.

The night before he died, it was clear he was going downhill fast. He spent most of the day hanging out on my bed and I didn’t see him eat anything at all. When I scooped him up for his evening dose of fluids, he was just a little lump, not wandering around the bathroom like he usually does. He seemed weak in the litter box and he vomited a tiny bit. So I scooped him up and spent the evening with him on my lap while I watched TV. When I got ready for bed, he decided he wanted to hang out in a box-cave. I couldn’t easily pull him out so I decided to leave him. But I was worried that he didn’t want to come to bed with me and I stared thinking about how to handle the end.

Sometime in the night, he’d jumped up on the bed and so I spent the dawn hours petting him. But after my shower, he didn’t come to explore the bathtub. And I watched him walk around some and he was just too weak. I ran into the office for a short time to pick up some stuff to work on, I made an appointment at the vet, and I came home to love him up and watch and wait. He couldn’t move around more than about 10 feet without resting. And he wobbled quite a bit while doing it. He napped on me and purred a bit, but eventually wandered back to his box-cave and curled up. He tried to get comfortable, but he just couldn’t. And when I pulled out his carrier for the trip to the vet, he walked right in, curled up, and whimpered. It was time.

Fortunately, Kim drove us to the vet. It was a slow time in the middle of the afternoon. I got to hold him on my lap until the end. He went to sleep quickly and peacefully. Fuzzy Bro, Moughbeigh Doughbeigh, Grey Boy, Brat and a Half, Mr. Cat, Mough-Man, Mo-Mo. My fondest wish for you is to be running around with Chutney again, drinking all the water you can possibly stand. I miss you, fuzzy guy.