BRUCE

We told our Vet we were going to attempt to trim big Bruce the cat’s long sharp claws on our own. Her reflexive response was “good luck with that.” She has been our trusted Vet of choice for well over a decade, not just for her obvious blunt frankness but because of her compassion,  research and out-of-the-box thinking that had directly resulted in added years of quality life for more than one of our pets.

We had actually adopted Bruce from that Vet’s office. Something about the five-year-old muscly gray galoot stomping around in the glass room caught the eye of both my wife and I when we, independent of each other, spotted him in there. We never learned all the details, but he had previously been pretty abused and at one point was locked in a basement alone for over a year. Knowing that instead of having kids we spoil and dote on our pets, after our Vet cautioned us about Bruce’s difficult past, she happily acknowledged “that he hit the jackpot” with us.  Little did we know at the time, how true that statement was.

Last Friday night, when Bruce was not busy giving me his customary head butts or kneading his jumbo paws into my flesh as he sat comfortably in my lap, he was wandering around the house (over) eating, playing with his nippy cat toys and investigating a box I had just emptied. When he finally got tired, he curled up next to my wife on his favorite blanket covered sofa spot where he could stretch out one of his big paws just close enough to touch her. He was being his version of cuddly and sweet but that was not always his way.

Almost six years ago when we first brought Bruce home, he did not want to be touched at all. He was a big aggressive cat and we could not take our eyes off his gigantic paws that spread out like catcher’s mitts. He stomped around like a menacing Viking looking to plunder; he hissed, growled and swatted not letting anyone get near him. And with paws that big, you paid attention to those swats. It was like a medieval mace ball swung at you.  For weeks we seriously questioned if adopting him had been a huge mistake.

Then one day, I was sitting at my computer desk when Bruce unexpectedly jumped in my lap. I looked at my wife with shocked wide-open eyes because I did not know what to do. I held my arms out to my sides where they were visible like a robbery victim showing he wouldn’t make any sudden moves. He proceeded to head butt my bearded chin a few times. Cautiously I moved my hand towards him and for the first time he openly let me pet his back a few times before he quickly hopped down to pace around in his already established grumbly routine.

Eventually he let us pet his back and rub his cheeks but when he hit limit, he would whip his head around and bite. Months turned into years, but he finally got comfortable with us and we learned to read his cues.  We suddenly realized we were petting him without flinching at his every move. He even let my wife scratch his belly when he was sprawled on his back, but he had a short fuse so if you pushed him, those massive paws could became dangerous weapons again.

The biggest help came when we learned the analogy of cats being like a balloon.  They all have a temper that grows at a different pace and if you push them too hard, like an over filled balloon, they explode.  Bruce inflated very easily and when he popped, you usually needed to break out the Neosporin and Band Aids. I’m not sure if we trained him or he trained us, but we found a good place where all were happy.

This past Saturday morning was not unique at all. Like most every other day, as I fell out of bed, all three cats closely trailed me. Each followed their usual routines; Sophie played with her rainbow rope, Bruce chewed on his favorite piece of plastic, Maggie begged to sit on the screened in porch and they all took turns demanding individual scritches. After the dog passed away last year, the cats had no problem finding a way to fill the time slot that had previously been dedicated to taking BJ outside to empty.

Nothing unusual happened that early morning. I sipped my coffee while playing on the computer, Maggie watched the birds and squirrels, Sophie crawled back into bed with my wife and Bruce did his usual grazing at the food bowl then walked by demanding pets every few minutes. He would stand tall stretching way up, wrapping his jumbo paws over the top of my chair’s armrest and repeatedly headbutt my arm till I scratched his cheeks and chin. He always let me know in no uncertain terms when I was supposed to drop what I was doing to pay attention to him. You did not argue with Bruce, he always won.

I do not want to sugarcoat what life with Bruce was like, there is a reason why the Vet said he hit the jackpot with us. Most folks would not have put up with him. Like people, cats tend to have individual quirks and Bruce was mega-quirky to the nth degree. Some traits were cute, like the way he obsessed over his stuffed toy banana, would cuddle with Sofie and his hatred of closed doors; he had a habit of standing on his hind legs repeatedly digging or pawing on any shut door. He also obsessively chewed on any plastic. If it was accessible plastic, it had numerous chomp marks. He modified shower curtains, sunglasses, garbage bags, food packages, Amazon shipments envelopes… anything and everything.

He played rough, bullying the other animals and sometimes scratching or nipping us. We really needed a suit of armor those times we trimmed his claws and he was a crazed holy violent terror on Vet trips.  He was destructive and literally caused hundreds of dollars of damage in the house. Before we could sell our old place, we had to replace floorboards, carpets and moldings that he destroyed.  We were forced to live with an odoriferous extra litter box right in the middle of our bedroom because he completely refused to use one anywhere else. Even with that, I still had to constantly scrub, mop and shampoo because if he was in a mood, he’d still sometimes decide not to use it.

No matter how dramatically Bruce had mellowed, we still needed to advise company to be careful around him. But mellow he did. Frequently when snuggling or petting him, we marveled how we would never have dreamed of doing stuff like that his first year with us.  Despite his issues, his personality was so big, he was hard not to love; his difficulties just made him more endearing to us. We knew we made his life better and frequently wondered what would have befell him had he not found us.  Bruce was only 11 but we often worried, since our other cats all lived to be around 18, when he grew old how would we ever administer him any special medical treatments like our last two elderly felines required?

On Saturday morning, my wife eventually got up and carried Sofie in from the bedroom. It was like any other weekend morning. She sat in the chair across from me looking out onto the porch where Maggie was napping. As usual Bruce did not want to be alone, so he sauntered in, sniffed us both and checked out the porch before wandered back in. He rubbed my leg then stretched up to my armrest to demand some pets. I scratched his head for about 30 seconds when he suddenly collapsed. He crumpled to the floor like a limp rag doll. Seconds later he was gone.

Death is never pleasant for the people left behind picking up the pieces.  But no illness, no pain, no suffering, no discomfort, no uncomfortable treatments… I could not wish for a faster, easier death.  Here, then a minute later, forever gone.

But we were unprepared. Our heads were spinning all weekend from the suddenness as we tried to process the unexpected immediate finality of him being gone. We did so much to accommodate Bruce over the years, adapting to his needs, that there seemed to be a bigger hole than normal. Almost like what happens to a sole caretaker of an elderly parent who slowly gives up so much of their own life, time and energy to lovingly tend to them; above the normal pain when the parent passes, there is also a vacant chasm-like vacuum that takes a lot of time to refill with the long ignored needs of their own life.

Though he got a clean bill of health on his last Vet visit, I assume Bruce had a massive heart attack that instantly killed him. We will never know for sure. In dealing with the shock, my wife and I found ourselves discussing our own end of life plans. She just dealt with the long slow painful decline of her Mother’s health two years ago and the equally gradual deterioration of our dog last year, but this was different. There was no chance to brace for it or time for last goodbyes. My first thought went to my parents, who are are both in their 90s, but are still active, feisty and kicking.  Though it might be miserable for us and I hope its not soon, but when their time does eventually come, I pray they are as lucky as Bruce.  Active, loved and pampered to the very last second, then a painless quick end.

Since I did not get a chance to tell the big goofus that I loved him and how much he will be missed, I am left to tell you all instead. Please do me a favor and give all your loved ones (furry or otherwise) a big ole hug in Bruce’s honor, because you never know how fast things might change. You better do it or ya might piss him off; and if there ever was an animal cantankerous enough to figure out a way to come back and swat you with his big ole’ giant mitt of a paw, it’s Bruce.