This kitty must be a stray, I thought, as I tried to break up a squabble between my neighbor’s cat Oscar, and the big orange tom. Wary of people and sporting many battle scars, it was evident that the orange cat was no stranger to the often unforgiving street life. I decided that if he kept returning, I’d at least put food out for him, so he’d at least have regular meals.
Sure enough, the big orange tom started coming around. I’d actually been putting food out for Oscar, because I’d originally thought he was a stray, until I’d met my new neighbors and discovered he was part of their family. Old habits die hard, and I continued leaving food out for Oscar. It wasn’t long before the big orange tom found Oscar’s food on my front porch.
He was a solid orange tabby, with green eyes. His tattered ears were tangible reminders of battles won and lost. His wide face and large body gave him a bear-like appearance. His soulful green eyes contained untold stories of a hard life spent fending for himself.
The orange tom started frequenting my porch, partaking in the food I left out (much to Oscar’s dismay). Once he realized that I meant him no harm, he let me get close to him and stroke his long orange fur. He actually warmed up to me pretty quickly, which made me wonder if at one time he’d experienced positive human contact.
Inspired by the colour of his fur, I decided to name my new friend Butterscotch. Because of his wide face, I nicknamed him “Butterscotch Bear.” I also referred to him as “Scotch-kitty.”
That summer, Butterscotch and I developed a routine. As soon as I would open the front door, he’d run up the walkway, expecting breakfast. If I didn’t see him right away, all I had to do was call out to him and he’d come from out of nowhere. Afterwards Butterscotch would settle down on my doormat and spend the afternoon sleeping there. I used to joke that I had a squatter living on my porch; I even put down a thick towel on my doormat, just so he’d have a comfortable spot to lie.
Summer was nearing its end, with it came the promise of colder weather. I was beginning to worry about Butterscotch’s future and knew that I couldn’t just leave him outside, even though he was used to living outdoors. I decided to take him in, which meant first meant a visit to the vet for an FELV/FIV test.
The news wasn’t good. Butterscotch tested positive for feline leukemia (FELV), an infectious virus that produces fatal illness in cats. There is no cure, but cats can live with the virus before showing signs. The vet asked me if I wanted to put Butterscotch to sleep, based on the test results. That wasn’t even an option for me; Butterscotch wasn’t showing signs of illness, and had given me his trust. It would be like betraying a friend.
Now however, I was faced with a new dilemma: how do I take Butterscotch in without risking infecting my cats? And what is the best way to keep him separated from them without disrupting their routine?
I decided to make my studio Butterscotch’s new home. Even though it was a little smaller than I would have liked, there were windows to look out of, and I spent a great deal of time there. Plus my other cats wouldn’t mind giving up that room. I made the room as cat-friendly as possible: a litter box in the corner, far away from the food; shelves on both the windowsills; a thick comforter spread out on the floor; and a radio set to a classical music station. What more could a wayward kitty ask for?
Butterscotch seemed to adapt well to life indoors. He loved to lie on the window sills during the day and survey his former stomping grounds. At night, he would often sleep on the comforter. Sometimes he’d wake me up, meowing and scratching at the door, not to be let out, but to have some company. I would oblige him as often as I could. And when I was working on a project, he’d lay on my drawing table and purr. I used to joke that Butterscotch was like a little prince living in an ivory tower, and every time family and friends came over, they would make the trek upstairs, just to see him. My parents would often comment that Butterscotch found a nice home to retire to.
Butterscotch lived with me for 3 years. I had just gotten him through a nasty upper respiratory infection, when I noticed that his lymph nodes in his neck were swollen. I knew it was lymphoma even before the official diagnosis; I realized that it was probably secondary to his feline leukemia; and I suddenly understood the meaning of borrowed time. I decided to take Butterscotch to an internist for chemotherapy. I knew I was only buying him time, but he traveled well, and in spite of the odds being against him, I felt it was worth whatever time I could give him. After a couple months of chemo, Butterscotch’s white count plummeted. I knew it was time to stop treatment; I was hoping that he would tell me when he wanted to stop…..
Shortly after that, I was getting ready for work and noticed that Butterscotch was markedly weaker and periodically catching his breath. I knew he wasn’t long for this world, so I took him into work and helped him cross over to the Rainbow Bridge. Butterscotch went peacefully in my arms, with my husband there, as well as my co-workers who’d helped with his many blood draws. I remember hoping that I had given Butterscotch a good life in spite of his illness; that he finally felt loved and wanted, in spite of his many rough years prior. And I hoped that I had been able to make as much of a difference in his life as he’d made in mine.
Ellen 2/18/07
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