I got Riggs during a really rough part of my life, before my home became filled with people. I was really depressed and lonely. One day I was out and I saw him and immediately fell in love with him and brought him home. I had pets before, but never one on my own that I chose and took care of myself. Almost immediately I noticed he was sneezing a lot and took him to the vet, he was only eight weeks old. They told me he had rhinitis, which is often fatal in kittens. Usually you get them vaccinated against this but he already had contracted it before I got him. The vet wasn’t sure he would make it. But he did and he became the biggest bundle of energy in a house that didn’t have much life in it.

He chewed my toes when I tried to sleep and knocked down my Christmas tree that first year, and even got his big head stuck under my fold-out desk when he squeezed himself underneath it. He was a real pain in the ass. One day my mom pointed out to me, “do you see how he follows you around everywhere you go?” I hadn’t noticed before. But he did. If I went to the bathroom, he went. If I went out, he followed me to the door and was there to greet me when I got back. He “talked” a lot too, always responding to me. As he got older and other pets and people joined the home, he became the patriarch, patiently training each one and putting each one in their place. If a child grabbed his tail too tightly, he’d put up with it or simply walk away. We made jokes about how he didn’t have a “hiss”… never had I heard it. He’d wash and take care of the other cats. Whenever I was crying, he’d come up to me and stare and put a paw to my face. Seriously, he would do that. He was the sweetest cat ever.

When he was three years old he had some dental problems which I had to take him to another vet for (back then, not many did dentistry). He came back from dental surgery with an infection that almost killed him. I found him lying under my bed, barely responsive and burning up. Again, they didn’t think he would make it. I took him home to my room and spent days with him, giving him his medicine, and spoon-feeding him water and food. Eventually he came back to me. After that episode he really didn’t have any health problems.

Last year he had an upper respiratory infection, a carryover from the rhinitis he contracted as a kitten they said. He got well again but he wasn’t really the same. A couple of months ago I noticed he had dropped weight suddenly but otherwise he seemed fine. In April I took him to the vet and they couldn’t find anything wrong with him but did note the sudden weight loss. I took him back for blood work but nothing showed. This past week he became much worse so I took him back again and this time a different vet felt that the elevated calcium levels from the earlier blood work were a sure sign of cancer. He was put on prednisone to help him bounce back and gain some weight. It was a prescription for 20 days. If he wasn’t improving by the time it ran out, I’d have to consider other options they told me. So this had to count. This had to work. It was going to work because he had come back before.

He had three pills. On Wednesday night he stopped eating but was drinking. I stayed with him most of the night and cried. The pills had to work right? It hadn’t been twenty days yet. I prayed and bargained. I promised I’d get him all these great things in the morning. And in the morning I bought the best food, Temptations cat treats (they can’t resist that), catnip and his own litter box and brought him to my room. I can’t believe I was so stupid to think that that would make things better.

I even called the vet and requested some antibiotics, maybe he had an infection. I had to go to a work assignment but could only think about him. When I came back I hoped to see if anything had made a difference. I couldn’t recognize him, he had turned so quickly. He was so dirty. He had soiled himself and when he tried to get up he fell over. And I promised him I would make it all better. So I called the vet and made the earliest appointment they could give me. It was the longest hour as I held him and told him it would be over soon. He was wrapped in a blanket because he was too frail to take in or out of a carrier. And I knew he had to be put to sleep and it was a decision I didn’t want to make but I had to. I promised him I would stay with him the whole time. That may sound silly to some but I did and I keep my promises.

It was traumatic to watch him be euthanized but I thought if he can go through it, I can certainly be there. The vet was very good about all of it. I cried like a baby but they got to it quickly. They shaved his arm and put in an IV and he was injected with an overdose of anesthetic. And I held his head the whole time. And as it went in he brought his head up and I just wanted to shout, “stop, he’s OK” but out of my mouth came, “is he OK?” and they said yes, he’s pretty out of it. And in seconds he was gone. It was so quick. And the vet checked his vitals and said, “he’s gone now.” And I kissed him again and told him I loved him. They said I could stay as long as I wanted. But I said no and quickly left the room. I didn’t want to see him still. I didn’t want to see his chest not rising and falling. I just wanted to know he went peacefully and be there because I promised.

I know he is a cat. I know he lived a long time. But somehow none of that makes it hurt any less. I loved him and that is it. I gave him so much love I thought I would burst, and he gave it all back.