Roscoe Tribute

Roscoe came into our lives unexpectedly, in the manner of so many cats. We had just moved into an old house we had been remodeling for about a year when I heard a lot of commotion one Saturday morning and looked out my kitchen window. Our elderly neighbor, who we had quickly discovered often made dubious decisions, was in her yard wearing long rubber gloves and poking at something with a stick. I went to see if I could help her, and she told me she had gotten two kittens that she planned on training to live in her barn and keep the mice away. One of the kittens had escaped from the barn but was scared of this neighbor's two dogs who had cornered her beside the barn and were barking wildly. My neighbor said she needed to get the kitten back into the barn, but she was afraid of cats, hence the long rubber gloves and stick. I looked behind the bush where the neighbor had been poking something with her stick, and there was the tiniest tuxedo kitten I had ever seen, with eyes that looked like little emeralds. She arched her back, puffed her tail out, and hissed defiantly at the dogs towering over her and barking obnoxiously. My heart just melted. I picked her up and carried her back into the barn, and there on an old cat tree doing exactly what he was supposed to do was the most precious orange and white kitten. We had two cats at the time that had both been adult rescues, but I had never owned and had barely even seen kittens before.

                   

This same neighbor with these adorable little kittens had recently come into possession of a litter of stray kittens and had intended to keep them for the same purpose of discouraging rodents. The entire litter had been killed by a neighbor's dog that had escaped from its fenced yard. I petted and loved on the new little kittens and then went back home, but I couldn't stop thinking about them. I kept looking out my window to see if I could see them. I was terrified something would get them. I watched my neighbor open her door and throw bread toward the barn for them, and it seemed obvious to me she really didn't know how to take care of them. I bought some kitten food and took it over to them. I brought them little bowls and a water dish. Later I fed them again...and again. Then I took some toys over to them. They were so excited for the attention and started to watch for me. Eventually the little tuxedo kitten followed me home. The orange and white kitten was much more shy and hid behind a rock before finally deciding to follow his sister and make a run for our back deck.

                         

Pretty soon they started coming to our deck to look for us even when I had not visited. One day my husband came home from work and sat down on the back deck to read, only to feel the brave little tuxedo kitten rubbing at his ankles. I started talking about bringing them into our house to live, but my husband quickly reminded me they belonged to our neighbor. Plus, we were just starting the process of adopting a baby internationally. We already had a dog and two cats and certainly didn't need any more responsibility. But I worried about them all day when I was at work, and I went straight over to see them when I got home. I worried even more about them at night, and eventually I was getting up to feed and check on them as soon as it became light enough to see in the morning.

This went on for a couple of weeks, and finally my husband caved on bringing them into our house to live. I went straight over and knocked on the neighbor's door. When she came to the door, I asked if the kittens could come live in our house. I told her I was very worried about their safety because they were just babies. "Babies?!?" she asked, looking at me like I was crazy. "Yes," I said, "they're babies and I want to bring them inside and take care of them." She looked at me curiously for a minute, and then shrugged and said I could keep them inside. I was ecstatic! I quickly took them home before anyone might change their mind. I bathed them and picked fleas off them. I set up beds for them in the spare bedroom. The little tuxedo kitten became Daisy, and her orange and white brother became Roscoe. We took them to our veterinarian for a checkup, and they weighed about a pound each. Thankfully, they were both healthy and strong.

                         

Daisy and Roscoe were like two tiny but mischievous angels. They played together constantly and were into everything. They climbed the furniture, including a floor lamp which they turned over and shattered, ran through the house terrorizing the other pets, and entertained us all day long. They got into some cooking oil on our kitchen counter one night, and they both threw up all over our brand new carpet. They kept us occupied while we waited for our adoption to be approved, and they helped us welcome our new baby home a few months later when they were about a year old. They later welcomed our second adopted daughter, three dogs, and numerous other cats over the years.

Daisy was always more on the feisty side when she felt threatened and was known to pop another cat or dog, including our two yellow labs, on top of the head for misbehavior. Roscoe would only gently reprimand anyone who got out of line. Usually he ignored bad behavior as long as possible. They moved with us to a new house a few years later and adjusted very quickly and easily. They were always just easy to deal with. We discovered one morning about a year after our move that Daisy had died unexpectedly during the night. She was about 8 years old at the time of her death. Our family cried and grieved for her, and we buried her in the woods behind our house. She was such a special girl. We felt very thankful to still have Roscoe.

                                           

Roscoe lived another 10 years after Daisy died. I consider him just about the greatest cat to ever live. He was so calm and laid back. He wasn't afraid of strangers and would let anyone pet him. He adjusted very quickly to anything new. He loved to have his head rubbed and would sit and purr loudly when being petted. He never minded being held and played with by our daughters as they were growing up. He always came when his name was called. He was so patient with all the other babies we brought home of every kind, which he also helped us raise. He was even patient and gentle with a whole litter of kittens we fostered a few years ago. Roscoe loved to sit in the sun or lay by the fireplace or on a TV box (or anywhere that was warm). He liked going outside and half-heartedly chasing lizards and chipmunks, but he hunted just for the thrill of the catch. He never really had a killer instinct. He was far too sweet and gentle. He loved his home and family, and always stayed close to our house when he was outside. When it became chaotic with the kids and other pets, he would ask to go outside, but he was always at the door, ready to come in for dinner and to hang out with our family in the evenings.

           

About three years ago, we started to notice that Roscoe was slowing down, not able to jump quite as gracefully as he used to. He moved a little slower. Just over a year ago, he was lying in the driveway when I came home after picking my daughter up from school one afternoon. He didn't get up and run behind a bush or jump onto the porch like he would normally do because he was afraid of cars. "Something is wrong with Roscoe," I told my daughter, who told me not to be so negative. But then he tried to get up and seemed unable to move his back legs. "Something is wrong with Roscoe," said my daughter. I called my husband crying, saying I thought Roscoe might have had a stroke. He came straight home and took Roscoe to our vet. They couldn't find anything obviously wrong with him, but they did prescribe an antibiotic and gave him fluids. He perked back up so quickly that he was running to the door asking to go outside an hour after he came home. We realized he had been extremely dehydrated.

          

Over the next few months, we started to notice Roscoe was losing weight and drinking a lot of water. Then he started to lose his beautiful thick fur, and would even pull clumps of fur out with his teeth. I started researching what might be the cause and learned that thyroid issues and diabetes could cause some of the symptoms we were seeing, and both are common ailments in older cats. Roscoe went back to the vet, who diagnosed him as being hypothyroid but also being in the early stages of kidney failure. The vet told us that considering Roscoe was already about 18 years old, we could probably expect to have another six months to a year with him. With heavy hearts, we determined to enjoy the time we had left with him and make him as comfortable as possible.

         

Roscoe started taking a thyroid medication called Methimazole. After some tweaking to find the right balance for his thyroid and blood pressure, Roscoe started to put back on some weight. He stopped pulling his hair out, and his eyes looked brighter. We were thrilled to see him bounce back that way and hoped we might have him around for longer than expected. There were even a few nice days we let him go outside for a while, and he would lay in the sun on the back deck where he always liked to be. Unfortunately, it was a pretty short-lived turnaround for him. By late fall, we noticed he was starting to lose weight again and was also losing his hair. His eyes were not quite so bright. I wondered if we might be fortunate to have him long enough to enjoy the holidays with our family. My oldest daughter, the first baby he welcomed into our home all those years ago when he was just a year old, is in her senior year of high school, and my younger daughter is a Sophomore. Roscoe has been a constant in our family for their entire lives - for every season, every occasion, every day.

              

Roscoe was with us to ring in the new year, but almost immediately after the holidays he started declining rapidly. Last Thursday, January 5th, he didn't come for dinner even when I called him. Normally Roscoe was the one telling me it was time to feed him. He didn't seem to feel well. He lay down on the fireplace hearth, and I thought for a few minutes he might be about to pass, but then he sat up. My oldest daughter, who was leaving town for the weekend, came and sat with him on the hearth and petted him. Friday morning he still wouldn't eat and seemed to be moving very slowly. He slept all day Friday, but he did eat Friday night. I told myself maybe he was just hungry and weak, but that same night we had another episode where he went to sleep and seemed like he might not wake up. He roused again when my husband rubbed his side. On Saturday morning, he wouldn't eat again and seemed very uncomfortable. We couldn't stand the thought that he might be in distress during the weekend when there were no veterinarians available to help. We decided that it might be best to go ahead and take him to the vet so he could pass away peacefully while we were with him.

                 

We called a few veterinarians close by our house and found one that could see us within 45 minutes. We sat watching the clock, feeling a mixture of sadness and thankfulness for finding a veterinarian who could work us in. When the time came to leave, we carried Roscoe in his bed that he loved so much to the car. During the drive to the vet's office and while my husband checked us in, I held Roscoe and told him how much I loved him and what an amazing big brother and cat extraordinaire he had been his whole life.

                  

They were so kind and gracious with us at the vet's office, even though we are not their regular clients. They waited until we were ready and let us be with him and pet him, taking our time to say goodbye. He never stopped purring, loving the attention, until he just became very sleepy, and then he went to sleep. It was a heart-wrenching experience, but I wouldn't trade anything for being there with him and holding him so he wouldn't be afraid. It was quite peaceful and helped bring closure to his life. They gave us a paw print of Roscoe's to take home with us. We brought him home and buried him in the backyard beside his sister, Daisy.

                                                                                                                            

Rest in peace, my little taco. Your mission was accomplished, and you took good care of us all. Your life ended just the way it started the first time I met you - doing exactly what you were supposed to do. We will love you forever and never stop missing you. You were the best.