On Monday, Sept 21st, I lost my cat Bucky. Fuck cancer. Fuck kitty cancer.

Bucky came to me fourteen years ago with his brother Ghost. They were part of a litter from a feral momma cat that my friend had brought in so Momma Cat could give birth indoors. My wife at the time had moved out maybe a few months before the two tiny kitties came into the house. Even then, Bucky was clearly the dominant one.

Baby Bucky

Fast forward a bit. My friend needed a place to stay after his divorce. He brought with him three female cats and a thirty-pound dog. Bucky was my street-punk cat who brooked no shit from any of the other animals. Including the dog. Then we were joined by friend’s new girlfriend and her pug. Bucky was in charge of the animal herd – and proved it multiple times. This era was also when Bucky got his first taste of beer. That cat loved his beer.

Young Bucky

Bucky Goes to Work

Bucky was a big cat. At his largest, he was pushing fifteen pounds. Which he used to prove his point when he wanted your attention. Which he did, but only on his terms. It was I want attention. Thank you. Nip.

Then came Irma. I made the decision that instead of riding out the storm by myself in a house I wasn’t too sure about, I would evac to The Brother’s place. Bucky had not been outside the house in probably a decade. He didn’t understand why I was putting him in this tiny cage. He didn’t understand why I was throwing him into the noisy metal box. He didn’t understand why the noisy metal box was moving. My big, strong, silent cat began to let out the most horrible sounding cry of distress. I would grow used to it over the next few years as he was forced to move from The Brother’s house back to mine. Then when we moved him down to what would become his final home.

I was worried when we were moving him into a house with several cats who were already established. Yeah, I should have known better. Within moments of being sprung from isolation, Bucky established himself as alpha of our clowder.

The last few months, you could see something was wrong. The Wife mentioned he was breathing harder than normal. He developed a cyst under his eye. We took him to the vet to get it removed. She took a look at his x-rays and told us that there was some cloudiness in his lungs. There wasn’t anything we could really do, so we kept him comfortable. Then, our normally voracious eater and demander of treats, started getting very finicky. We took him in Monday. He’d lost almost a pound and a half in less than six weeks. The cloudiness had taken up almost all of his lungs. After an excruciating period, The Wife and I made our decision. We spend a good ten to fifteen minutes giving our Bucky attention. If you didn’t know he was sick, he would have seen almost normal. Purring and happy that we were there.

Miss you my friend.

The Boss