Buddy Cat

We are deeply saddened to say that, on September 17th, our sweet Buddy-cat lost his fight with kidney failure and passed away peacefully while his daddy scratched his chin and mommy held him (two of his very favorite things).

Buddy came into our lives when we moved onto Laurie Avenue-not to be "parented", but to be fed. The house next door to ours was uninhabited and trashed, so Buddy and his street-bro, Scruffy (another orange cat), decided it was a good place for cats to claim as theirs. The story of Buddy and Scruffy seemed to be known by several neighbors-these two felines had been abandoned years before and thus roamed the streets - neither had any interest in being touched or even approached. Both looked awful (Scruffy, especially-his fur was long and severely matted), but both laughed (in their own kitty way) at our attempts to trap them and take them in for vet care. They were seasoned veterans and way too smart for their own good!

Suffice to say that the Lotti’s cannot handle the thought of cats being out on their own, so out came the food and water bowls, placed safely on our covered front porch. And eventually, Buddy and Scruffy came to depend on a good meal at the house next door to theirs. But then, construction began on "their house", and they struggled to find their place. A neighbor from the street behind ours began focusing on trapping Scruffy, who was looking extraordinarily bad. And then, something magical happened. . .

Three plus years into our "food only" relationship, Buddy was hanging out on the walkway when Lisa left for work. And as she walked by, he leaned his little head over and bunted her. BUNTED HER!! She bent down and stroked his head, and he leaned in. Carefully, she walked back into the house, secured a carrier, opened it, went back outside, and pet, pet, SCRUFF! Buddy was snatched up, stuffed into a small cage, and whisked away to the vet! Oh, the yowling that ensued!! But by the end of the day, a neutered, chipped, vaccinated, defleaed, toothless (his mouth was a MESS) and VERY pissed off cat was returned to us. After two yowl-filled days of recovery, Buddy was re-released . . . and disappeared.

In time, Scruffy was finally trapped and was kept inside by our neighbor-he passed away shortly after, but in a warm home with clean fur, good food and love. For three months, though, we didn’t see Buddy. But one day, he returned, looking fairly pathetic. That same day, he allowed us to pet him. Out came the food and water bowls, but this time, we also set up a heated bed on the porch as well. Budster crawled in and curled up. He had found his house.

For the next three plus years, Buddy’s home was just outside our front door. He was snuggled up in his warm bed when we left in the mornings, and waiting for us with his very loud "MROW! MROW!" when we returned home. He allowed us to brush him, apply flea meds-even medicate him when necessary. But he drew the line at coming into the house. It wasn’t that he was afraid of 120 pound Julius (in fact, quite the opposite was true: Julius was petrified of 6 pound Buddy and would refuse to walk out the front door if Buddy was there). Maybe it was because he wasn’t quite ready to surrender his whole heart. Maybe he remembered being abandoned and wasn’t about to chance the good situation he’d stumbled into. . . we’ll never know, of course, but until October of 2010, he wanted to remain an outdoor stray, unclaimed by us, though he had claimed us thoroughly.

On June 19, 2010, our amazing polar bear pup, Julius, passed away. We believe that Buddy knew Julius was sick-during the 19 days that Julius stayed with us after presenting as severely ill, Buddy would often lay "in the vicinity of him" on the lawn. It was the first time dog and cat tolerated being in the others’ presence. We also believe that Buddy knew once Julius was gone. He began wandering into the house when we kept the door open, looking and "mrow-ing" loudly. And he stayed longer and longer before heading back toward the door and his porch. So, with Halloween, and winter, approaching (neither are good times for an outside cat), we began to contemplate talking Buddy into moving in.

One crisp fall October morning, Lisa (again on her way to work) made an impulse decision. She lifted Buddy gently from his warmy bed, placed him in a carrier, and took him to the Cat Hospital, where he had the outdoors bathed away and bloodwork done. Bloodwork showed Buddy was in kidney failure-his age estimate was 18-20. It was time for a comfy and well-earned retirement. When Lisa picked him up that afternoon, all orange and fluffy, she simply brought him into the house. This time, he did not protest. He found his litter box and food-his bed by the fireplace-the couch. We rigged fences in the backyard so that Buddy could enjoy sunbeams but not escape. Comfy, fluffy blankets were folded up on the sofa as Buddy cushions. After nearly seven years of him calling the shots, Buddy finally allowed us to call him ours.

We had eleven months with one of the most loving feline souls we have ever met. He certainly was not the prettiest. He was not the sweetest smelling, either. He was not a cat that most people would have chosen. Maybe he knew these things. Maybe he put us through a period of initiation to make sure we were serious about loving him. We will say that, once he decided we were in for the long haul, he gifted us with an indescribable kind of love in return. He made us the center of his universe. When we were on the sofa, HE was on US. If we were in the kitchen, he was underfoot. If we were outside on the chairs, he was snuggled up with us. He begged to be held and touched and picked up and kissed. And we did those things a LOT, because there is nothing more special than the purr of a 20 year old cat who has finally found his place in the world.

We have so many amazing Buddy memories, but here are a few of our favorites: Buddy, Geoff and Daddy watching Monday Night Football (Buddy was always in the middle, as photographic evidence will confirm); Buddy’s love for mama’s sick days (he and mama would curl up on the sofa ALL DAY with warm blankets and purrs); his expertise in helping his dad review contracts for work (from the comfort of George’s lap, of course); his love (and we mean LOVE) for the fireplace during winter . . . Buddy would stand in front of the fireplace and MROW until we turned it on, at which point he would curl up in his bed (placed right in front of the fire) and snooze. The fireplace became affectionately known as "Buddy TV", and when we would ask him if he wanted to watch Buddy TV, he would mrow his answer . . . We remember Buddy’s adoration for our neighbors and friends-if we trusted them, so did he-and his love for cooked chicken and gouda cheese. We used to joke that if we just fed Buddy gouda, he’d weigh 20 pounds! Buddy also retained his love for dirt. Very often (usually after a bath), he would make his way to the side yard and lay in the mulch, completely covering his underside with schmutz. You can take the cat out of the "outside", but you can’t take the "outside" out of the cat . . .

Most of all, though, we remember Buddy as a teacher. Buddy came into our home after a profound loss of the most gorgeous, perfect dog ever. And at a glance, Buddy was the opposite of gorgeous, and perfect. But Buddy taught us about true beauty. He taught us that when you open your heart to possibility, you start seeing soulful green eyes and soft orange fur swirls and sweet pink paw pads. You forgive bad breath and occasional poop accidents. You see real love, embodied in a soul who’s had an incomprehensibly difficult stay on this earth-who’s been abandoned and ignored, and yet still hands you his heart and trusts you to hold it close. You learn not to fret in the mirror so much about wrinkles and gray hair, because a sofa and snuggles are so much more important. Buddy was our Skin Horse, and we were his Velveteen Rabbits. He taught us what it means to be real.

On September 17th, Buddy left his mama and daddy peacefully in the quiet room of Adobe Animal Hospital. Mama held him, and Daddy scratched his chin. He was nestled in his favorite blanket. It was an exit fitting of a little feline soul who was all but forgotten for a long time, but saved his best lessons for last.