Igby T. Cat – May 5, 2004 – May 1, 2007
Igby. If you ever met him, you would understand why this hurts so much. Why a man of nearly 23 years will bawl his eyes out, hyperventilate, and nearly break his hand out of frustration and anger over the loss of one small, black, three-legged feline. But Igby was more than just a pet, more than just a cat. He was my best friend. He was the one I could count on being there when no one else was. He always had more than enough love for me. He was my life. If I ever had a real conversation in my life with anybody, I had one including Igby. Yes, I was/am one of those people who can talk forever about their cat. It’s not that I’m a crazy cat person. I just love my cat. He was the cat that everyone would love, even if they absolutely hated cats. He was so personable, so cute, that you could not help but at least admit he was the one exception.
I first saw Igby in early June of 2004. I just moved to Missouri two weeks earlier and was renting an apartment with Zach. I knew long before I signed the lease that I would have a cat. Preferably a black, female cat, since females tend to stay smaller and I didn’t want a big, fat cat. My friend Katie worked at C.A.R.E., which is an animal rescue shelter, and she gave me the inside scoop that they were getting a new litter of kittens in, most likely black kittens. When I went to the shelter, there were three kittens in the cage: a black one with 3 ½ legs, his brother with all legs intact, and a white/calico one. The amputee caught my eye, just cause he was so…odd. I took him out and he was full of energy, jumping, running, playing. I thought he was going to kill himself the way he was jumping into the air and onto the floor three feet below. But I wasn’t sure if a three legged cat was for me. But his brother was just lame. No energy, no excitement, just wanted to sleep. After playing with the three-legged kitty some more I left. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. I knew he was the kitten for me. Two days later I brought him home. He was climbing all over me in the car. He was perfect. Kim came over and we played with the new member of the apartment, the new member of my family.
I think it was a week or two later when I took him to the vet. There was a great dane there, whose mouth was the size of Igby. Igby didn’t like that, even though the dog was really nice. Reina was there with me, and helped Igby calm down. So the doctor did his thing, and we found out Igby had FeLV, or the Feline Leukemia Virus. I was stunned. How could a cat this energetic have the equivalent of AIDS? I thought it was a false positive, so I took him to a different vet, and they had the same results. I was in denial. I knew Igby could overcome it. He was just a carrier. The disease couldn’t affect him. The new vet told me that some cats can live long lives, up to three years once they are diagnosed.
But Igby just kept on going, even after I had to have the half of a leg removed. He was so energetic that he wore through the skin on his stump straight to the bone. He couldn’t keep a stitch, so they said, “We need to take the rest of the leg”. Luckily they could do it for a really good price and the doctors were amazing. So now Igby has overcome two amputations on the same leg, de-clawing all three paws, getting neutered, and refusing to show signs of leukemia. He was a fighter. He was going to show those doctors that if any cat can live a long, normal, healthy life with leukemia, he could. What do those stupid doctors know anyways?
There’s no question that Igby was the center of attention, no matter where he was. And he was mine. Sure he gave attention and love to others. Zach was number two in his life. I’m sure Zach has plenty of Igby stories. When I was at class or at work, Igby was Zach’s. But as soon as I opened the front door, Igby ran to me, followed me to my room, and was my cat. He knew it. But I never tried to keep him all to myself. A cat like this has to be shared and appreciated by everyone possible. If you couldn’t appreciate my cat, you couldn’t appreciate me. Igby defined who I was.
After a year and a half in Missouri, it was time to graduate college. I wasn’t sure where I was gonna go. All I knew is that Igby would be there. No matter what I did, where I went, who I was with, Igby was always part of it. He was my furry, little son. I took care of him. I loved him. I even had to wipe his ass once or twice.
It ended up that I was to return to Buffalo and move in with my parents. Igby was so playful. Too playful for my parent’s cat, Shayna. Igby and Shayna met the year before at Christmas. But Moses was alive then, too. That meant that Igby had two cats to divide his attention, even though they would rather sleep. But that didn’t stop him from playing with them. One day, Moses was sound asleep under the dining room table. I was watching Igby crawl up to Moses, ever so silently, then jump straight up, landing on Moses’ stomach, and jumping off and running away. That scared the crap out of Moses, but he was too slow to do anything. I just about died laughing.
But when I officially moved home, it was just Shayna and Igby. And Igby still played too much for her. How could a cat with this much life and energy have leukemia?? When I finally moved out in November, Shayna was happy, and she stopped peeing on things out of anger. Igby was a bit sad, cause he didn’t have as much attention anymore. At this point, I was unemployed, but still living with Igby in my own apartment. But that’s when Jodi moved back home and had a friend for Igby. Her cat, Toby, was exactly what Igby needed. They played and fought and slept together. They were brothers from another mother. The perfect pair. Unfortunately, Toby could not stay at my place all of the time, but he was happy when he was there. And so was Igby.
I still swore that Igby did not have leukemia, and that the Missouri vets messed up the test. As soon as I had money, I would get him tested again. But that never happened. Igby got more and more cuddly. If I touched him, he would start purring. I dance with him to M. Ward. He loved it. I just thought that he was a bit lonely cause I was hardly at home. Then, Monday, April 30th, I played with him for the last time. I even picked him up and looked at him, thinking his face was a bit thin. I asked him if he was all right, and he just purred. I thought I would take him to the vet as soon as I could. I left and went to Jodi’s, where I eventually fell asleep. I told schools that I couldn’t substitute teach on Tuesday or Wednesday, cause I had to work on a presentation and study for an exam. As soon as I woke up at Jodi’s on Tuesday, I told myself I had to get home to see Igby. We would go out on the porch and finish my presentation. We would take a nap together. We would dance. But that never happened.
When I usually got home to my apartment, but the time I closed the outside door, I could hear Igby running to the inside door, crying, wanting to see me. But that didn’t happen this time. I thought it was odd but told myself he was just in a deep sleep. I came inside, and saw him on the couch. He was sort of in an odd position, but I’ve seen him sleep like that before. But there was no movement. He didn’t flinch when I set my keys down loud enough to elicit a response. His belly wasn’t moving. I ran to him and touched him. It wasn’t Igby. It couldn’t be him. My cat has life. My cat greets me at the door. My cat purrs. My cat breathes.
After much weeping, wailing, hyperventilating, punching of doors, drunken grievings, and just crying, Igby was buried in my parent’s backyard. He died May 1st, just four days before his third birthday. Jodi and I were going to have a party for him, with hats and everything. I can’t express how much I will miss him. He was perfect, maybe a little too bitey. But he was handsome and dignified. He could have been a show-cat if he had all four extremities. But he was my best friend. The only constant in my life since I started living on my own. The only one who would never walk away from me. He was the only son I ever wanted. I knew that as long as I had Igby, I would be okay. No matter how long I was unemployed, no matter how many fights I would have with Jodi, no matter what happened, Igby could make me feel better. I needed him as much as he needed me.
Igby, you will be missed. You were my Igby, my Iglet, my Igbatious, my Iggles-bee-tuna, my Igg, my thumper, my hop-along, my Igger, my Iggster, my buddy-buddy, my bub, my kitty-kitty. My best friend and my inspiration. My Igby T. Cat.
Please leave any stories you have about Igby, or just general comments you may have. This is the last blog I will write here. He was my inspiration for so many things, and this blog was one of them.
I love you Igby. I will always miss you and never forget you.
I first saw Igby in early June of 2004. I just moved to Missouri two weeks earlier and was renting an apartment with Zach. I knew long before I signed the lease that I would have a cat. Preferably a black, female cat, since females tend to stay smaller and I didn’t want a big, fat cat. My friend Katie worked at C.A.R.E., which is an animal rescue shelter, and she gave me the inside scoop that they were getting a new litter of kittens in, most likely black kittens. When I went to the shelter, there were three kittens in the cage: a black one with 3 ½ legs, his brother with all legs intact, and a white/calico one. The amputee caught my eye, just cause he was so…odd. I took him out and he was full of energy, jumping, running, playing. I thought he was going to kill himself the way he was jumping into the air and onto the floor three feet below. But I wasn’t sure if a three legged cat was for me. But his brother was just lame. No energy, no excitement, just wanted to sleep. After playing with the three-legged kitty some more I left. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. I knew he was the kitten for me. Two days later I brought him home. He was climbing all over me in the car. He was perfect. Kim came over and we played with the new member of the apartment, the new member of my family.
I think it was a week or two later when I took him to the vet. There was a great dane there, whose mouth was the size of Igby. Igby didn’t like that, even though the dog was really nice. Reina was there with me, and helped Igby calm down. So the doctor did his thing, and we found out Igby had FeLV, or the Feline Leukemia Virus. I was stunned. How could a cat this energetic have the equivalent of AIDS? I thought it was a false positive, so I took him to a different vet, and they had the same results. I was in denial. I knew Igby could overcome it. He was just a carrier. The disease couldn’t affect him. The new vet told me that some cats can live long lives, up to three years once they are diagnosed.
But Igby just kept on going, even after I had to have the half of a leg removed. He was so energetic that he wore through the skin on his stump straight to the bone. He couldn’t keep a stitch, so they said, “We need to take the rest of the leg”. Luckily they could do it for a really good price and the doctors were amazing. So now Igby has overcome two amputations on the same leg, de-clawing all three paws, getting neutered, and refusing to show signs of leukemia. He was a fighter. He was going to show those doctors that if any cat can live a long, normal, healthy life with leukemia, he could. What do those stupid doctors know anyways?
There’s no question that Igby was the center of attention, no matter where he was. And he was mine. Sure he gave attention and love to others. Zach was number two in his life. I’m sure Zach has plenty of Igby stories. When I was at class or at work, Igby was Zach’s. But as soon as I opened the front door, Igby ran to me, followed me to my room, and was my cat. He knew it. But I never tried to keep him all to myself. A cat like this has to be shared and appreciated by everyone possible. If you couldn’t appreciate my cat, you couldn’t appreciate me. Igby defined who I was.
After a year and a half in Missouri, it was time to graduate college. I wasn’t sure where I was gonna go. All I knew is that Igby would be there. No matter what I did, where I went, who I was with, Igby was always part of it. He was my furry, little son. I took care of him. I loved him. I even had to wipe his ass once or twice.
It ended up that I was to return to Buffalo and move in with my parents. Igby was so playful. Too playful for my parent’s cat, Shayna. Igby and Shayna met the year before at Christmas. But Moses was alive then, too. That meant that Igby had two cats to divide his attention, even though they would rather sleep. But that didn’t stop him from playing with them. One day, Moses was sound asleep under the dining room table. I was watching Igby crawl up to Moses, ever so silently, then jump straight up, landing on Moses’ stomach, and jumping off and running away. That scared the crap out of Moses, but he was too slow to do anything. I just about died laughing.
But when I officially moved home, it was just Shayna and Igby. And Igby still played too much for her. How could a cat with this much life and energy have leukemia?? When I finally moved out in November, Shayna was happy, and she stopped peeing on things out of anger. Igby was a bit sad, cause he didn’t have as much attention anymore. At this point, I was unemployed, but still living with Igby in my own apartment. But that’s when Jodi moved back home and had a friend for Igby. Her cat, Toby, was exactly what Igby needed. They played and fought and slept together. They were brothers from another mother. The perfect pair. Unfortunately, Toby could not stay at my place all of the time, but he was happy when he was there. And so was Igby.
I still swore that Igby did not have leukemia, and that the Missouri vets messed up the test. As soon as I had money, I would get him tested again. But that never happened. Igby got more and more cuddly. If I touched him, he would start purring. I dance with him to M. Ward. He loved it. I just thought that he was a bit lonely cause I was hardly at home. Then, Monday, April 30th, I played with him for the last time. I even picked him up and looked at him, thinking his face was a bit thin. I asked him if he was all right, and he just purred. I thought I would take him to the vet as soon as I could. I left and went to Jodi’s, where I eventually fell asleep. I told schools that I couldn’t substitute teach on Tuesday or Wednesday, cause I had to work on a presentation and study for an exam. As soon as I woke up at Jodi’s on Tuesday, I told myself I had to get home to see Igby. We would go out on the porch and finish my presentation. We would take a nap together. We would dance. But that never happened.
When I usually got home to my apartment, but the time I closed the outside door, I could hear Igby running to the inside door, crying, wanting to see me. But that didn’t happen this time. I thought it was odd but told myself he was just in a deep sleep. I came inside, and saw him on the couch. He was sort of in an odd position, but I’ve seen him sleep like that before. But there was no movement. He didn’t flinch when I set my keys down loud enough to elicit a response. His belly wasn’t moving. I ran to him and touched him. It wasn’t Igby. It couldn’t be him. My cat has life. My cat greets me at the door. My cat purrs. My cat breathes.
After much weeping, wailing, hyperventilating, punching of doors, drunken grievings, and just crying, Igby was buried in my parent’s backyard. He died May 1st, just four days before his third birthday. Jodi and I were going to have a party for him, with hats and everything. I can’t express how much I will miss him. He was perfect, maybe a little too bitey. But he was handsome and dignified. He could have been a show-cat if he had all four extremities. But he was my best friend. The only constant in my life since I started living on my own. The only one who would never walk away from me. He was the only son I ever wanted. I knew that as long as I had Igby, I would be okay. No matter how long I was unemployed, no matter how many fights I would have with Jodi, no matter what happened, Igby could make me feel better. I needed him as much as he needed me.
Igby, you will be missed. You were my Igby, my Iglet, my Igbatious, my Iggles-bee-tuna, my Igg, my thumper, my hop-along, my Igger, my Iggster, my buddy-buddy, my bub, my kitty-kitty. My best friend and my inspiration. My Igby T. Cat.
Please leave any stories you have about Igby, or just general comments you may have. This is the last blog I will write here. He was my inspiration for so many things, and this blog was one of them.
I love you Igby. I will always miss you and never forget you.
posted by goodbyedearsun at 10:47 AM
3 Comments:
you know i really thought that i could get through this day without crying, that i had finally come to peace with igby being gone and then you go and do this. sigh. so here i am again sniffling at my desk, my contacts blurry and sticky with tears wondering what life will look like without igby. just going about our everyday routine feels vulgar. and i know that i can project a facade of peace but the first time we walk through your apartment doors with just toby im going to lose it. when he runs around sniffing and looking for his friend i will be overwhelmed by my inability to bring him back. that i will cry each time i see him sitting alone on your couch or staring at me in the shower or eating from the bowl all by himself. just seeing it in your eyes is enough. i didnt know igby long but he was our first real conversation and that first time i met him i felt like i saw the real you. and i am completely silenced by the guilt i feel for fighting with you and leaving you alone, im so sorry. and completely burdened for all the times i begged you to come over and leave him alone, igby, i am so so sorry.
if i can, i want a piece of him, to say that he was my cat too. he will be missed. he will be remembered. he will always be loved.
crazy thumper with the twitchy tail, ass-licker, smelly face, creepy stare, blanky stealer; the sweetest and most fun bundle of fur that ive ever had the privelge of knowing.
igby we love you, and ill take the "crazy cat-woman" label if it means that i can remember you forever.
I'll just always remember how Igby could take rejection so well. Like when Simon and Widgie had to stay at your apartment for a while, and Igby wanted to play with them even though they were busy trying to be proud, dignified cats. And even though they wouldn't play with him at first, he just kept jumping on them, over and over again, even though they were bigger and stronger than he was, and even though he only had three legs to land on when they tried to get him off of them. He was just so resilient and never lost his enthusiasm for wearing them down and getting them to play with him.
I could probably talk about many of the things I miss about igby, but i am going to limit myself to two of the more memorable events.
The first was when we first got Igby. Ryan was at work I think, and this was my first time alone with the little guy (he was literally very small then!). He still had his little claws on his three paws. I was making dinner and he followed me around the kitchen. He eventually climbed his way up my leg up to the top of my shoulder. He stayed there for the rest of the dinner making event. It was wonderful. it was so nice to be loved by this little creature so early on without him knowing me for too long. This was the first bonding experience with him, and out of all the experiences with him this is the one I remember the best.
The second story is more of a continual event when Ryan was student teaching. I was usually up later than Ryan doing homework because Ryan had to get up early to teach. Well, Igby made sure Ryan was asleep before he would come and see what I was doing. Sometimes after peeking in my room he would run up and down the hall. but my favorite was when he came in and climbed on my lap to help me type papers. He didn't really help but he was a nice distraction! After he was done we would go back to Ryan.
Although, I loved playing with Igby and his sharp teeth, my favorite moments where when he wanted to bond with me by sitting on my lap or shoulder. He was always good about that.
I really miss Igby. he was one of my favorite things about our apartment.
Zach
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