The Cat Who Saved Me, Part Two

The life and death of Francis Spock Chewbacca Boyd Thompson

[If you missed part one, read it first for proper context.]

When you date a girl, you don't meet her pet upfront. Usually, anyway. If she's the kind of girl who carries a little dog in her purse, she's not someone I'm going to ask out anyway. But eventually it was time to meet Julia's cat. Francis was relatively recently acquired, but had been in the hands of two abusive men already. I was worried she would ultimately be a dealbreaker – if not immediately, then later down the line.

As a kitten, though, Francis did not trigger the big sneezy allergies. Just hives, which, I mean, when the worst of it is itchy arms that can be fixed with soap and water, that's a cakewalk for seasoned allergy sufferers. When she rubbed her face against my leg, I internally thought to myself, “I'd forgotten they do that.” Later, it occurred to me that if I'd actually found a woman with a cat I'm not allergic to, this might be the sign that she's the one.

Perhaps as importantly, over the counter Allegra became a thing. Having been burned by literally every other allergy remedy my parents had tried (don't get me started on the non-dairy diet where I had to pour apple juice on my cereal), I had no expectations. Yet I'll be damned – the purple pill worked. I still wasn't allergic to Francis, but when we'd get Toby, the purple pill would be necessary.

Julia told me she saw Francis in the shelter being shunned by other cats as the runt of the litter, and immediately wanted t take her home and take care of her. Her original name was Frances Farmer, after the actress – Julia changed the spelling to reflect her favorite non-related uncle, Francis Gaskins. She added “Spock” as a middle name, and dubbed her a Boyd. Julia's place was small, but Francis would run around it multiple times. When Julia would sit in low-to-the-ground moon chairs, Francis would get behind the chair and pull her hair. If we didn't tuck our feet in at night, she'd attack them. If you petted her, she'd stretch out fully elongated on the ground, arching her back for maximum length, and slowly claw her way away from you so you'd have to come to her. You could pet the belly a limited amount of time before she unleashed her bear trap. Eventually, though, she stopped doing the bear trap with me because I withstood it all. She learned quickly that I could tickle her sides until she gave up the kicking and biting, and ran away. Francis had the same tickle spots as her owner.

Julia got a little teddy bear for her 21st birthday, and Francis stole it immediately. That became her Pooky. A lure to get her in the carry case, more often than not, but hers till the last.

When it became clear I wasn't going anywhere, Julia added another name – our shared cat was now Francis Spock Chewbacca Boyd, in honor of my first cat. After we married, we added Thompson to the end as well. We brought Francis back and forth to Joshua Tree – initially, Julia's parents had just the one cat, Felix, whom Francis would play-attack constantly. Their coexistence was fun and non-threatening – only later, when they got a male cat that her father refused to spay (out of male empathy, I suspect), did it get more dangerous for her – Frizzy, the male, was a bully, and even after he eventually got fixed, he would still mount the other female cats in the house and dominate them. When we quarantined in Joshua Tree during the first lockdown, Francis and Toby stayed in the bedroom. There had been previous times where we had woken up to a flying ball of fur and claws on the bed that was Frizzy attacking Francis. After Frizzy was gone, it still took Francis and Toby six months to coexist with the younger female cats, Luvvy and Pirate.

When we got Toby, at Cat Con, Francis was not impressed, and displayed her dominance throughout his growth period – it was the only time Francis actually looked big by comparison. Toby grew to be twice her size, yet she could still smack the crap out of him. A typical fight between them would be picked by Toby smacking her, then Francis getting on her back and kicking and spitting like a jiujitsu fighter, and eventually Toby running away to a corner where he'd meow loudly, presumably about being beaten.

At our first apartment together, Francis would frequently look up into the corner above the main door, and yell at things that weren't there. Was she seeing ghosts? Maybe. (I don't actually believe in the supernatural, but sometimes it's fun to speculate. At that same apartment, she arguably saved Julia's life once – my wife was having a medical emergency and had locked herself in the bathroom. I didn't notice until she slipped a note under the door, and Francis started calling my attention to the note. We did not get our security deposit back for many reasons, but they never charged me extra, as far as I know, for kicking in the door lock.

About three years ago, Francis started getting alarming nosebleeds. We had them treated with antibiotics, but as they kept happening, we needed to further probe – turned out she had a thyroid issue. We put her on pills, but she'd still have her eyes and nose crust up almost every day.

This year, she started suddenly falling on her side while walking, so we made an appointment with a newer, more recommended clinic. Before we could do our appointment, she suddenly got a lot worse and we had to bring her in sooner – she was bambi-ing with her legs splaying out underneath her like Bambi on the ice every time she's try to walk. Yet she would drag herself to food, to water, and to us – she was not taking it easy.

It turned out her thyroid was over-suppressed and her kidneys were failing. The vet believed she could help her, but was willing to do a peaceful passing if we wanted. Having seen her fight, we said save her. After two nights at the clinic, on new meds, hydration, and a special diet, she started regaining strength. Even better – her eyes and nose weren't oozing any more!

Every day, she got stronger, doing one more thing she couldn't do before. For the first time in two years or so, she could make a loud, audible purr, and she did it a lot. Then three weeks in, I awoke to her calling for help. She was bambi-ing again.

I called the vet. Maybe time to stop the antibiotics? It seemed weird that they'd be indefinite. The vet said to try it, and if she wasn't better in 24 hours, take her to urgent care.

It turned out we didn't have 24 hours. When she didn't urinate all day, after a week of frequently doing so on the bedsheets, I suspected the kidneys may have crapped out. We kept her in bed all day, then later on the couch. At one point, I noticed one of her paws pointing backwards, and picked her up – I literally felt it pop back into place. And after that, she tried to stand again. It was tiring her out, but she wasn't going to stop trying. She wouldn't eat, though, even when Julia force-fed her turkey lunchmeat. We hydrated her with a syringe.

Then when I picked her up, she started attacking things that weren't there, as if trying to grab invisible bugs. I set her down so she could fight them on the towel. She breathed sharply and stiffly, and I couldn't see her chest rise. Had she died? I knew if she were alive she'd react to me trying to open her mouth, so I did. She bit down harder than she ever had, drawing blood, so I called to Julia for help.

And when Julia came in, Francis took her last breath. We tucked her in and called the 24-hour cremation service, which fortunately is a thing in Los Angeles.

Seeing the body leave was harder than watching it die, but the guy had made his trunk look like the nicest, comfiest bed for eternal rest. I didn't even care that it was a Tesla. Francis had gotten a final three weeks in which we treated her like a queen, and judging by her “motor,” she was loving every moment. And then, I guess, the kidneys just quit.

We've saved her final towel, hoping that when we get back to Toby he can use the scent to make sense of it all – while she was sick, he stepped up and protected her, though he would sometimes try to fight for her special food too.

Francis saved Julia's life that one time, but she also saved mine. She let me know we were a match meant to be, and she let me love animals again.

I've had this song going through my mind – the lyrics seem to be about a woman leaving an overprotective relationship, but they hit differently now. They also feel like they could be about a cat spirit, confined by its broken-down body, ready to leave and hunt again as it was born to do.

But when I hear “Let me leave,” I think...I don't know if I can. I will, of course – nobody grieves forever. My heart, though, does not want to let go.

Meow.