We often made reference to how our cat, Moe, was a stud. He weighed a whopping 20 pounds and was as big as one my old dogs, Snoopy, who was a rat terrier/fox terrier mix.
We got Moe and his sister, Murphy, from a farm. My wife wanted a cat bad. She wanted just one because she had always grown up with just one cat. I insisted that we get two because I didn't want her to just have one cat that loved just her. I wanted a cat, too. Besides, I argued, the cats will have each other to play with.
We picked out our two cats from the farm. One was a gray tabby cat and the other was a mostly grayish-black cat with a front of white fur with white paws. We named them Moe and Murphy. We mainly picked those names because we had seen a George Carlin skit in which he had two cats and a dog name Moe, Murphy and Verne. In this skit, Moe (his dog) tries to get it on with the male cat named Verne. We laughed so hard at that skit that we were reminded of it when it was time to choose names.
Moe’s full name was Mulder Moe. The Mulder part came from the popular show, The X-Files. We were big fans, so that’s what we thought would be cool to name our cats, so Moe was Mulder and Murphy was Scully. After a week of that, I was worried that it would sound really dated years later (and it does). Mulder and Scully never did stick.
When we picked up the cats, one thing really surprised me. They were practically the size of a full grown cat. Laura assured me that both cats were 8 weeks old. We assumed that they were going to get a lot bigger. We were right.
From the start, we knew he was going to be quite the character.
As a kitten, Moe was built with the shoulders of a bull dog. He would do a kind of strut waddle when we ran into a room. Before too long, he would get the nickname, Studly, because of the way that he would announce his presence to you. If he wanted affection from you, he’d walk over you, butt his head into your chin and plop all 20 pounds of him on you chest.
Moe quickly established himself as the dominate kitten. He would often chase his sister around the apartment. When we got a mouse toy on an elastic string that’s attached over a door, Moe went to town on it. He was so determined to get the mouse down that he, after many attempts of batting it down, grabbed it with his teeth and started walking slowly towards us. Meanwhile, the elastic was stretching and the door overhand part was bending. Before I could stop him, his grip on the elastic broke and off the mouse flew in the opposite direction. It wasn’t long after that that Moe gave up on it. He may have been an animal, but he wasn’t stupid.
Moe’s demeanor changed when, a year later, we moved to
We would be up all night with Moe wailing and it was only until he had a hand on him, that he’d be happy. Sometimes, my wife Laura, would have to sleep on the couch with her hand on him to keep him quiet. In the end, I would play with him for 30 minutes every night to wear him out.
Laura called a vet about it and she suggested we talk to one of the local colleges because it sounded like Moe was suffering from separation anxiety and she had never heard of a cat having it.
From that point on, Moe became an attack cat, the muscle of the house. If he didn’t know you or knew you didn’t like him even if you knew him, he’d hiss, jump at you or both.
We went on vacation and our friend, Jeff, was to come by and feed our cats periodically. He reported that he was terrified as our cats jumped out at him from corners, chased him downstairs and out the door. He had to bring his girlfriend back to help. “They’re just cats!” she exclaimed at him.
When we were trying to sell our old house, we kept the cats in the garage with the note: “Please don’t open the garage. Cats in here.” Of course, some people wouldn’t listen, so invariably we’d come home to messages that read, “The customer opened the garage door and let the cats out. We tried to finish the tour with them in the house, but the cats chased us from room to room. We cut the tour short and fled the house. Great attack cats!” We even had a realtor open house cancelled because the cats were let out and lunging at realtors. From that point on, Moe and Murphy were locked in a big pet carrier.
When we moved to
Another babysitter’s father commented that we could write them off on our taxes “As horses!”
You had to be careful what you left out around Moe. If you had a drink of water on a table, it’d better be in a solid, heavy glass or hidden because usually when you weren’t looking, Moe would walk up to it, sniff it, reach up his paw and pull the glass down. He’d lap up your water that was spilled all over the table while you cursed at him and cleaned it up. He’d fake you out by not doing it for a while and then just when you relaxed, ‘DUNK!’, he’d do it again.
Because of Moe’s protective, bruising nature, we were a little concerned when Laura gave birth to our daughter, Julia. We had read from some people that they would get rid of a cat that would try to jump in a crib with their baby. I knew that wasn’t going to be an option, so we installed a screen door on Julia’s room to keep the cats out.
When we brought Julia home from the hospital, we set her down in her car seat down in front of Moe. Moe froze in his tracks with wide eyes. He then crawled forward and sniffed Julia up and down. He didn’t hiss, but he seemed a little freaked out.
I was a little worried about Moe around Julia, but Laura was sure of him. She said, “I think Moe will be her protector.”
While he never had cause to run protection, he did act like he was guarding her. While Julia crawled or played on a blanket, Moe would sit there like a sphinx in front of her. As Julia got older, she’d grab on to his fur or his ears. Sometimes, she’d climb on him. Moe would always take it without even trying to nip at her. As Julia’s adventures took to the back yard, Moe would be out there with her following her around. Some of her first words were “Moe!” or “Moe Moe!” as she’d call out to him constantly when he’d walk away.
His patience towards Julia was almost never ending. One day, Julia draped a necklace on his neck. He walked around with it all day and ended up wearing it for several days before he snagged it on a table and the beads went everywhere.
To my wife, Moe was her ‘Baby’. He had to have access next to her on the couch. If he didn’t get it, he made noises of displeasure. Then again, he made noises of displeasure for anything: if he didn’t have water, if he didn’t have food, if he wanted to be rubbed.
My wife always made alone time for Moe. At night, he’d curl up beside her and she’d stroke him for a long time. He’d always have his eyes closed with pleasure.
Then he’d get to me. He also had to have alone time with him lying on my chest. Sometimes, I’d be barely lying down and he’d saunter up my torso, nudge me in the chin with his head and plop down. I gave him what would probably be a face massage as I rubbed his chin and face while he purred in contentment…
Last week, Moe jumped up on our breakfast bar and laid there for hours. When it came time for bed time, my wife noticed that he hadn’t come up for his alone time. I went downstairs and found him eating. I grabbed him and brought upstairs to bed. He didn’t stay long. He ran out and went back to the breakfast bar. He didn’t come back.
The next night, he sat again on the breakfast bar. He wasn’t sleeping and he looked a little irritated. My wife mentioned that he didn’t look good and that we should make an appointment for him.
By Wednesday, Moe was still heading for the kitchen counter, a place he never spent time at. He sat with his paws curled in towards his body. He also was starting to smell a little as if he hadn’t been cleaning himself. I just assumed that he had a virus. I made the vet appointment for Friday morning.
Thursday night, I came home and Moe was not on the kitchen counter. He was in our guest bedroom. He was drooling. His arm was crusted with it, which led me to assume that he’d been doing this for a long time. I rushed him to the emergency vet and they noticed right away that he was extremely dehydrated.
We got the call later that night that Moe’s blood work indicated that he had chronic kidney failure. Their suggestion was to run IV on him for a full day to flush him out and see if the levels come down. Most cats don’t recover from this. I had to break the news to my wife that her favorite cat was dying.
The next morning, I had to go pick him up. Moe didn’t look happy. He looked weak and unhealthy. I had to take him home for about 30 minutes while I waited for the vet to open. He managed to jump up on the kitchen counter again and curled up in the same place he had been most of the week.
Laura went to see him at the vet. She called in tears. She said, “He doesn’t look good at all. He looks horrible.”
The next morning, we talked to the vet. He informed us that the new blood work was back and his levels were still off the charts. He wasn’t recovering. The vet did note that they had to put him in a kitty bag to get him out of his cage because he was really mad at having been there all night! We laughed at that because even in his poor health he was feisty.
We made the decision to end his life because he wasn’t going to recover, and we didn’t want his final days to be ones of discomfort. I grabbed his head and looked him in the eyes. I rubbed his cheeks another time and gave him a hug. Our daughter also said goodbye.
My wife stayed in with him when it was over. The vet came out of the room and gave me a thumbs up (which I thought was odd). We did manage to laugh at that later. I wondered aloud what sort of signal would you give that an animal had passed away? The slash to the throat?
The day before we talked with our daughter that Moe would not be coming back. I don’t think she truly understands. As far as she knows, Moe is at the vet and isn’t coming back.
When my wife talked to her about it, Julia said, “I want to keep a picture of Moe, because I don’t want to forget him.”
When I talked with her about it, Julia said, “I’m going to miss him, because he’s a stud.”
I said through tears, “I know he is Sweetie. I know he is.”
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