A Pain in the Neck

Yesterday, we said goodbye to Maceo, a gentleman among cats and a sweet, good-natured, lovable, all-around good guy. At 17, he was considered pretty old for a cat, but, until this last week, he was in fairly good health and remained a kitten at heart.

Maceo was very patient with all my picture-taking. Here he is with me and his portrait in December 2012.

I can’t believe he’s gone. He lived with me for 16 years. Aside from my mom, who I lived with for almost 18 years before going to college, I’ve never lived with anybody that long. When I was looking for photos of him to post, I didn’t think I had one of him with his painted portrait and I almost went to look for him to take a picture before I remembered that he wasn’t going to come to me when I called his name.

Maceo leaves behind a big gap in our lives. Literally. He was a big kitty. Whenever I would take him to the vet, people peering into his carrier would exclaim, “Oh, what a big cat!” as if I were transporting a mountain lion. But the large gap that he leaves is because, like his companion, Akasha, who left us several months ago, he had a lot of personality.

Maceo had a peaceful nature. When I lived in a house in Ohio, I would sometimes let him out in the backyard because he loved to sit among the plants, blissfully sniffing the flowers and sunning himself. He never bothered the birds or the neighbors’ five-pound Yorkie, who was afraid of cats. The dog and Maceo achieved a pact, sniffing each other through the fence in a silent agreement to not bother each other. My neighbor said it was the closest his Yorkie had ever been to a cat. (Akasha, on the other hand, couldn’t be outside much because she was a cat who had to hunt everything, including the tiny dog; I once caught her lurking among the plants in my garden, ready to attack as the Yorkie blithely ran around his yard, unaware of the nearby danger.)

Like Akasha, Maceo served as an artist muse. Here he is last month with a drawing of his likeness.

Maceo was a gentle soul who never wanted any trouble. Occasionally, a neighborhood cat would enter the Ohio yard, and Maceo would retreat. Once, he walked out and was greeted by the hiss of a cat outside. Maceo simply backed right up into the house, as if he had been rewound.

Aside from a phase in kittenhood when he loved to bite socks with feet in them, I never had to warn visitors of any behavior. Well, they had to watch their snacks, but that’s about it. At parties or gatherings with food, as guests filled up and eventually drifted away from the snack area, the cats would plot a way to get food, each displaying different tactics. Akasha would use the sneak attack, quietly edging her way to the unattended bowls and plates, whereas Maceo would tend to lunge for the bounty, eating as much as he could before being shooed away.

Though Maceo would bat around the occasional mouse, he preferred stationary prey—the fallen bit of cheese, an unguarded hamburger, a chip that had strayed from the bowl and sat out alone and vulnerable. Once a big sliver of potato chip fell onto a nearby end table and I saw his white paw emerge from underneath the table and quickly grab it, followed by a crunch.

Maceo was a handsome kitty with a lot of personality.

For a cat, Maceo was notoriously clumsy and lacked feline grace. He always fell off things, and he never quite understood the burying of things in the litterbox, just reflexively pawing in the general area without really covering much. Handsome Maceo was interesting-looking as well. When I first got him, a friend described him as a “Frankenkitty, like someone took a whole bunch of other cats and sewed them together.” He was a mix of a tabby and a white cat—a tabby tail with tabby ears and spots of tabby coloring; people often remarked in his striped spots. I always felt as if he were the last creature made at the animal factory that day, assembled with stray bits of cat fur and a cat body, with perhaps the soul of a dog, and all the leftover good nature and sweetness they had to use up before they mixed a fresh batch to put in the creatures scheduled to be made the following day.

Maceo was my first cat, the high standard to which I hold other cats. When we recently were in the market for cats, I had a hard time looking at cats that didn’t grab my attention the way he first did. The day before my 22nd birthday, my boyfriend at the time picked me up from work during lunch break and took me to Cat Welfare, a local cat shelter in Columbus, to surprise me with a cat. As we walked through the shelter and by the cages, one cat, a white cat with tabby markings and a distinct meow, meowed so insistently that I decided to take him out and see him. He purred and got fur all over my fleece pants. I put him back, though, because I had my heart set on getting a black cat. After looking at some black kittens, I decided on a big black cat that my boyfriend said was ugly. But the cat ran away from me and hid. My boyfriend had to get back to work and suggested we come back another time, but I wanted a cat that day. I thought back to the sweet cat who had stayed by my side and was still meowing in his cage and I impulsively said I would take him instead.

Maceo was a sweetheart.

Looking back, it makes me really sad that I came so close to not having Maceo in my life. He was about a year old, declawed and neutered when I got him, so he had clearly been someone’s pet. I think he must have wandered away from his original home and gotten lost. He is named for the Jane’s Addiction song “My Cat’s Name is Maceo,” on which Maceo Parker plays. The lyrics seemed fitting “My cat’s name is Maceo/he’s a little man in a cat’s body” and “We went down/down to the pound/ and that’s where we saw Maceo/Cat catcher said to me, ‘Go ahead and pick one out’/and Maceo said ‘Let meow-t.’”

Maceo with Charlotte, in his favorite chair with his favorite blanket.

When we got the new kittens, it felt right. Charlotte (named for the Cure’s “Charlotte Sometimes”) was trying to steal a toy from a neighboring cat’s cage, while Ziggy (named for “Ziggy Stardust”) chilled out in his litterbox. I had pictured the three cats having more time together, and I’m sorry that the kittens won’t be able to learn from Maceo and know what a magnificent cat he was.

I wanted Maceo to be a fine example to Ziggy.

Maceo’s decline was very swift. He started throwing up and not eating last Friday night, and ended up at two vet appointments and three emergency room visits within the past week. They tried fluids, steroids, pain medication, anti-nausea drugs, appetite stimulants and antibiotics, expecting them to work each time, but nothing seemed to help. We were really optimistic last Sunday when they said we could take him home. By yesterday morning, he was so sick, we knew it was the end. It was so terrible to see such a vibrant cat so sick and visibly miserable and in pain. I am glad he didn’t suffer for very long and was able to enjoy his life without much illness.

I miss him. He would answer to his name and would come when you called him, even if meant getting up from a warm, sunny spot on the bed or when he was curled up in his favorite chair. It’s strange to not have him greet me, without fail, at the door when I get home. The apartment’s a little quieter without his little stomp-walk across the floor, though the kittens are zooming around at full speed. They have big shoes to fill.

Goodbye, sweet Maceo. I hope wherever you are, you are united with your old pals Tabby and Akasha and it is a place filled with all your favorite things—cardboard boxes, sunshine to bask in, plants, catnip, smoked meat sandwiches, ice cream and someone to stroke your soft fur. I miss you, but I can’t think of you without so much joy. I love you, little buddy.

Maceo as a Game of Thrones dragon.

Maceo and Akasha as kittens.