Today, the sad news just kept on coming. Nubby, the other cat Jennifer brought with her when she moved in passed this afternoon. I wouldn’t be surprised he finally gave up his ongoing battle with hyperthyroidism after knowing his buddy Vegas died. Jennifer shared old photos of these two hanging out since Nubby was originally a very sociable guy. I sadly only knew him while he suffered from the ailment which also killed my Miette, ergo, I often see him as a bottomless eating machine.
Nubby’s original shelter name was Phoenix due to his litter mates or something were a city theme. Jennifer changed it since he only had a stub of a tail; this was an unfortunate side effect of inbreeding. I figure his parents were too closely related. How intelligent Nubby was in his salad days, I have no idea. Today there’s a belief that orange-colored cats (80% of which are male) are pretty dumb to begin with. I beg to differ via my years living with Teddy in the Eighties.
If Vegas was the alarm clock for bed time, Nubby was designated to wake us. Personally, after living with a cat in the house for 24 years straight, I have a hypothesis on how the clowder (you’d think they’d be called a pride) delegates the weakest, dumbest or most gullible to wake the humans. When the food-providers obey, with say Nubby leading them to the food dishes, the rest appear out of the metaphorical woodwork saying, “Oh? It’s time to eat? I had no idea. Good thing Nubby reminded everybody!” Other past chumps? Nemo and until Nubby, Aggie. If there isn’t a wimp cat, then it’s an aggressor. Before Nemo, I can safely say Queen Molly would climb up and wake me with biscuit making.
Although his condition made him a four-legged, furry Homer Simpson, he enjoyed his life everywhere he went. When not eating, Nubby would play with found objects to bat under the couch. He was a cute sleeper, curled up in odd positions, hidden in laundry baskets or blankets on the floor. To the end, he was also Houdini reincarnated. When he decided to do the cat thing of hiding in order to die alone, I couldn’t find him. I had only checked on him 20 minutes earlier, saw him in the bedroom. While I was working at home this week (due to Vegas), Nubby mustered all his remaining energy to go to the kitchen, get behind the freezer (it looks like a fridge though) and climb into a section with its coils and wires. Meanwhile, I was beside myself checking everywhere else. Behind he washer/dryer in the laundry room, every piece of furniture with a gap and even the kitchen cabinets: a favorite hangout for Isis, sometimes Nubby, Metztli and Aggie. It was like he was beamed away by the Enterprise. Jennifer figured it out when she came home early.
For better or for worse, Nubby was still hanging in there. We said goodbye to him one last time. I whispered in his ears, thanks for all the funny shit you did, namely the time I saw him get in a yoga pose to take a dump somewhere he shouldn’t have. It was gross, awful and oddly hilarious all at once. He breathed his last with us in tears.
May his journey across the Rainbow Bridge be swift too. I know Vegas is waiting for him and they’ll do the cat high five, nose boops. Then as they’re re-invigorated, they’ll romp around, climb carpet-covered towers, scratch leather furniture without consequence and nap together in the warm sunlight.