16 years ago, just as I was in the process of moving in with mrs. darthcobain17 for the very first time in a small apartment in south London . . . she went out shopping one day. This wasn’t your habitual type of every day shopping though, for on that day she brought home the first pet we ever owned together, a small and fluffy black kitten who would from that point onwards be known as Zoey! The pet store she visited that day wasn’t the most reputable, which probably explains the mental state this little ball of fuzz was in. She was overly skittish, not very fond of attention, and for the most part just seemed to want to be left alone.

During our first week of ownership we had to plaster posters of Zoey all over the building as we believed she’d somehow escaped. After a couple of days with no sign of her we suddenly heard the tiniest of meows ring out in the middle of the night. Being ecstatic that she hadn’t escaped after all we went on a search for her, believing the noise to be coming from the bedroom closet. And that is indeed where we found her. She was inside of a shoebox that was at the bottom of a bigger box . . . and it had the lid on it!! I have no idea how she managed that, but we were just relieved to have finally found her.

As she grew up and as me and mrs. darthcobain17’s life as a couple progressed, we moved residences about four times, along the way welcoming our only son to the family. All the while Zoey was a part of our grand adventure. In every place we lived she seemed to immediately stake out her territory and set up shop there, proceeding to entertain us in only the way she could. Our first move saw us head just across the street from our apartment, upgrading to a small townhouse. There she liked to hang out on the open backed stairs, even falling through them one time, which was equal parts terrifying and hilarious! One night I received many cuts which I still have scars from to this day, when a window was left open and she decided to get in to it with another cat through the screen! If you’ve seen the Tasmanian Devil in action that would be a fitting comparison for Zoey when she was in such a state . . . only 10 times worse! I chose to intercede in the spat and paid a price. My favourite memory in the townhouse though was when I woke up suddenly one night, for what reason I have no idea. So I chose to head downstairs for a drink. Once on the main floor the room was dark, but I noticed a white silhouette on the ground and figured I must have left a sock lying around. Upon trying to pick it up though, it scooted out of my hand rather quickly, which then served to fully wake me up in a major hurry! Turning on the light I discovered that my hamster had somehow escaped his cage and climbed the basement stairs . . . and there was Zoey, hiding behind a chair and watching him intently. Only she had no intention of eating him, as fierce as she was with other cats she was pretty much scared of everything else . . . which was fortunate in that situation I suppose!!

(Zoey exploring the famous open backed stairs, and hanging out on a chair in our townhouse kitchen after a night of partying)

At our next place, our first house in St. Thomas, she would claw off the stucco on the walls at the landing on the stairs, then run away as fast as she could as soon as she saw me coming . . . it became a kind of game to her! It was when we moved from this house back to London when the most famous moving incident occurred. She got loose in the process of trying to put her in her cage, escaping to the basement. That house was over 100 years old so there were many places to hide, and she found them. In the end I had to don a pair of oven mitts and grab a hockey stick, in order to flush her out from behind the furnace, eventually luring her in to her cage.

The next house we were in was the one James was born in, and it was there that he began to love this enigmatic cat of ours. At that house she could usually be found on the landing, in the spare bedroom that ultimately became James’ toy room, or in one of the black chairs we had on the main floor. As James and I played we would try and include Zoey in as many activities as we could, even though by her skittish nature she was nervous to get too close, especially seeing as James was this loud little creature who tended to make sharp movements all of a sudden. Some favourite moments from that house was when she would corner both my mom and mrs. darthcobain17’s mom on the landing, making them pay a toll for passage . . . a toll of terror!!

(At the front door welcoming James home from the hospital, getting dressed up, a few of her staking claim to her favourite area on the landing, and one of her seeking out a patch of sunlight, as she liked to do. Click here to see a video of a future meeting between James and Zoey, when he was a bit bigger . . .)

We moved in to our current house when James was about four, I believe, and by then he was actually able to play with her from time to time. Every once in a while she would let her pet him, and even go after the ribbons he would cut off the roll and dangle in front of her face. It was in this house where her nickname was finally fully born, said nickname being “Beast”. Her preferred living space became the downstairs bedroom, which after none too long simply became known as “Beast’s room”. James’ toy room is right outside of Beast’s room, so naturally we would try and get her involved in as many of our activities as we could, although she was usually a reluctant participant.

(Some more recent pics of Beast)

Unfortunately, after 16 years being a member of our family, Beast had to move on. In recent months you could tell she was getting older and starting to slow down. When she finally started peeing on her bed and not in her litterbox though, we knew something was seriously wrong. The complication with poor Beast though was that she did not like to be put in her cage and taken to the vet. Now I know most cat owners would say they’re cat doesn’t like it either, but you’ve never seen anything like this before . . . picture the Exorcist, but in cat form. Visits to the vet were stressful on this poor old cat of ours, not to mention those of us who had to risk life and limb getting her there. The prognosis from the vet was that she had a kidney infection, with an underlying degree of kidney failure going on at the heart of things. Antibiotics were prescribed to try and take care of the infection, with future tests for bloodwork scheduled in order to determine the severity of her kidney failure. The problem was when we got her home we couldn’t get her to take the antibiotics no matter what we tried, and even though there were alternative methods the vet was willing to investigate, it meant more trips for Beast, and we didn’t want to do that to her. Not to mention the fact that her quality of life at home was declining at a rapid rate during all of this. She was spending 99% of her day in her bedroom, on a pee stained mattress, only coming out for about an hour at night to socialize. Given her age, her declining health, and her disposition, we chose to have her put down as an act of mercy.

Let me tell you I’ve never had to make a harder decision in my life, and it seems to be haunting me something fierce in these first few days afterwards. Every time I go somewhere in the house I see something that reminds me of her, and I start to ponder that I’ll never get to see her do this again, or never get to hear her do that again. I made an embarrassment of myself at the vet’s office, transforming from grown man in to a rapidly expanding mass of snot and tears, and I continued that trend throughout the rest of the weekend and even in to this week, although to a lesser extent as I’m finally starting to get a handle on things. I often find myself in the basement doing laundry or some other task and I’ll end up standing in the doorway to her room staring at her bed, just wishing that I could see her one more time. The night Johnny and Megan were over (see my next blog), the night before we had Beast put down, I didn’t get much sleep. When I went to bed I fell right asleep but woke up soon after fully alert and with Beast consuming my thoughts. I stared at the ceiling and pondered Beast’s situation, finally coming to the conclusion that putting her down was indeed the right decision. Even though I know in my heart the decision we made was what was best for her, it still doesn’t stop me from second guessing myself and asking if maybe I gave up on her a bit too early. I can’t stop feeling as though I lured her to her doom and betrayed her. All I know is the guilt is quite hard to live with and I no longer want to visit our basement . . . it feels so cold and empty now . . .

All that being said, I know in my heart I did what I thought was best for my kitty and her overall well-being. They say that time heals all wounds (for the most part, anyways), and I know this to be true as I’ve had to deal with loss before, although fortunately not as much as many others have. All I can do is be thankful that Beast came in to our lives when she did, and that she was with us for so long. For whatever reason I was the one person she allowed to get close to her. I was the one who could pick her up, rub her, cart her around, and I’m going to greatly miss being able to do so. I don’t know if this was because I was the one who primarily cared for her, feeding her and cleaning her litter and what not, but whatever the reason I’m truly grateful that it was me. The thing I’ll miss most are the late night visits she used to pay me. Almost every night around midnight you’d hear her deep meows coming down the hallway, hear her claws clicking on the floor, and then she’d pull herself up on to the bed and climb on top of my chest to settle in for a session of kneading and purring, eventually settling down for a bit of a nap. I used to love rubbing her ears and then stroking her nose, which would cause her to close her eyes and send her purrs in to overdrive. It’s just sad that we’ll never get to share such a moment ever again, I feel as though a piece of my heart was ripped out on that Saturday. Unfortunately she became a bit skittish and distrustful of us in those last days as I believe she feared the business with the vet wasn’t done, but fortunately there was one night near the end when I got to spend some moments with her one last time. I went to bed early and decided to watch a movie and Beast chose to join me, sticking around for much longer than she normally would have. I have taken that moment to be our true goodbye to each other and that is how I choose to remember her. As a warm, lovable ball of fur nestled up close to me, purring away to her heart’s content! I’m sorry you’re gone Beast and the way it had to happen, wherever cats go when their nine lives expire I want you to know that I love you and I miss you very much . . .

(Some images of Beast in her final days . . . such a pretty kitty!)

Update as of February 02, 2016: We chose to have Beast cremated and put in an urn so we could "keep" her. This past Friday she arrived, she is now resting on the shelf in our front living room, by the window. This was one of her favourite spots to hang out!