A Tribute to Buddy, the Cat

Abbott (rt) and Buddy (lft)

Yesterday was my cat Buddy's last day on this earth.

In his 16.9 years of life, he proved to be a sweet soul, exceptionally empathetic, kind, cuddly and loving.

In fact, I learned about Buddy's empathetic nature fairly early on. 

It was less than a month after Buddy and Abbott, his brother, came to share our home, that Abbott got the better of me. Abbott is the alpha-male and, from what I could tell, he was bothering Buddy a lot - to the point of Buddy hissing at him.

At one point, I had had enough. As Abbott lit into Buddy, I picked up Abbott by the scruff of the neck, (like a mom cat would do with her kittens), and walked him over to the living room couch, commencing to deliver a loud lecture. To the tune of: "Abbott, quit doing that! Buddy is your brother!"

I didn't get much farther than that when Buddy ran into the living room and deposited himself firmly in-between his brother and me, meowing for me to knock it off. He looked up at me when he was doing this, totally melting my anger and impressing me at the same time. 

Buddy at the front window

On more than one occasion, Buddy proved to be an avatar of gentleness.

There were uncountable times when I would be relaxing on the couch, watching a film, and Buddy would walk up, and look at me. I beaconed him to come sit up, but he would wait until I moved just a little to give him room. So that he could eventually fall asleep with his head resting on my lap.

Not to mention the hundreds of times he loved to let me pick him up, staring at me, while he put his front paws across my neck in a hug that only he could give. He learned to do an on-the-floor version of this hug, reaching up to me as I bent down.

The thing of it is, being an indoor cat, Buddy was always around. Usually using the living room walkway as his focal point, or sitting underneath the coffee table. He wanted to be where the action was.

When I was still working, one of the highlights of the day was returning home in the late afternoon, seeing Buddy perched on the living room couch, looking out the window in anticipation. When he saw my car turn into the driveway, he would do a full-body press against the window, stretching out to his full height. 

And when Buddy heard me open the side door, he ran into the dining room to greet me. When I think back over the past sixteen years I was privileged to be his dad, I can't remember many times when he wasn't there to welcome me home.

One of those times was when he spent about 12 days away getting radioactive iodine treatment that took care of a tumor on his thyroid. I will never forget the ultra-loud purrs he gave as I opened the door to his travel crate to let him back into his home. He walked around for a good long time, from room to room, loudly announcing that he was back and he was happy.

He was a semi-longhair. Black and white splotches like a Holstein cow. But probably the best single description I could give of Buddy came from the Kalamazoo Animal Rescue foster parent who had taken care of Buddy and Abbott before I adopted them. She told me, "he's like stroking velvet that purrs." And she was absolutely right.

Rest in Peace, Buddy. Your sweetness lingers on!