My Cat Mao died.

it was already over a year ago. but it's an experience that am still devastated by. i know i am going to come off as being a sappy weird cat guy. i assure you that there's no way you would ever guess this about me if we met. i'm a manly man. i revel in bodily functions, i have a hairy chest, i spent years of my life actively looking for fights, i have NEVER organized my sock drawer, and i can't imagine what women can possible find attractive about men. that being said, i had this perfect little fluffy fwend for 10 years whom i loved silly. silly silly.

i saved Mao from some crazy lady in Brighton Beach Brooklyn in 1998. he was all cracked out and starved and mistreated. i saw that he had a beautiful face though, and i chose him wisely from the other cats. he turned out to be an angel.

i used to leave my house, walk about a block, and then suddenly worry that i hadn't locked the door, or that i had left the stove on, which would put Mao in danger. i would then go all the way back despite being late for work. funny thing was, i was so anal about him that everything was always secure. i NEVER left the door unlocked or the stove on, ever. it might have been OCD, but since it never happens anymore, i know it was some kind of parental love related protective instinct. i was weird about him. i couldn't sleep over at any girl's house, not even a girlfriend whom i dated for over a year for concern that he would be alone for too long. finding him a home when i went away was a major source of trauma for me. especially when i lived in San Fran and didn't know too many people i trusted with my baby.

I always did, and still do feel horribly guilty for all the time he spent at home alone. i never commited to another cat, and he rarely got along with other cats. at least he didn't at first. i also felt guilty about being a smoker for several of the years i had him, i always wonder if i had anything to do with his cancer. was it me and my exes smoke? was it the food i fed him? was it something in one of the NYC, LA, or SF apartments? could i have been a better parent? sometimes these questions still twist at my gut in the early morning hours. i can't rationalize it.

i can say, without bias, because even non-cat people agreed who knew him, that Mao was the best possible cat ever. he had this spirit that was all love, he was extremely intelligent, he knew when i was sad or down, he always did exactly what i asked him too, he spoke english, he was also, hands down, THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CAT EVARR. his large light blue eyes pierced my heart every time he looked at me. his sweet and eloquent meow was like a young girl speaking french, musical and innocent. he liked to play fetch with mardi gras beads. he liked to take rides with me when i lived in LA. he came with me for several road trips. he was my best friend, my baby, my pride and joy. he made coming home positive, even when home signified the place i had just broken up with someone in. i still couldn't wait to have him run to the door and start headbutting me and then to roll over at my feet and show me his white belly. he was the best animal i ever had the pleasure of really getting to know.

i figured he's be with me into my mid 40's at least. until one day in february of 2007. he stopped eating. i remember that morning he suddenly ran across my body very quickly while i was sleeping. i thought it was odd, but wasn't alarmed. but then he didn't eat the next day either. i took him to the vet, and i was still not worried since he was such a large strong cat. but the vet came out and told me that he had abdominal cancer, that it was in many bad places, and was something he didn't even advice treating except for pills. he told me Mao had anywhere from a month to 6 months left.

i was blown away. completely and absolutely destroyed. i managed to get 3 opinions including one of the top oncologists at UCSF. he was a goner. i tried to buy him every kind of food possible. i fed him steak and sushi. he only nibbled it a bit and would then throw up. i was forcing about 10 pills down his throat a day (which he quickly swallowed and didn't hate me for it), i was taught how to give him an IV. and i fucking HATE needles. i would hold him down, and hang this bag of fluid from my closet doorway, and then put the needle into him and open the valve for a minute. it was HORRIBLE. he looked so miserable and there was NOTHING i could do about it. i remember being awestruck that mankind could build the golden gate bridge, but we couldn't save my perfect cat. i cried every time i saw him try to walk for those few weeks. i would break down in the middle of work, which was especially hard to explain since i was working on princesses and castles and butterflies. i would break down crying in the middle of driving 80 mph on the 101. it was ridiculous.

finally, after 4 weeks, i threw in the towel for him. i realized that he would have been dead already if it hadn't been for me force feeding him through the IV. he wasn't purring anymore when i pet him and it was just selfish of me to hold on. i drove him to vet near the beach because i knew i wouldn't be able to do anything after that besides fall over in the sand. of course it was a perfect day. i remember holding him in my lap while driving, knowing that these were our last moments. i remember wondering why all the hardest days have perfect sunny weather. the day my stepfather died in a taxi of a heart attack was like that, september 11th was like that. perfect weather.

it was a very graceful procedure. i held his head as he lost consciousness and i was petting him and holding him until he twitched one final time and was still. remembering that time still fucks me up pretty bad. i had to leave that apartment a month later. actually, thats when i moved back to NYC.

now i have a new cat. i saved him as well. he was actually going to be euthanized at one point. i saw that he looked like Mao and just assumed he would be the same. he's the Pet Cemetary version of Mao, kind of similar but something is definitely missing behind those blue eyes. he's kind of a jerk face. maybe it's better that way.

here's another guy who understands the loss of a great cat