Sam, a cat in a million.

Some years ago a rather bedraggled, smelly orange and white cat began nightly sorties to steal cat food.  Many stand off's were had between our legal resident, tiny Luna and this larger interloper.  I met this cat one day while hanging washing.  I noticed a ginger paw extending down from the garage roof and then a cat face emerged and miaowed at me.  I stroked the paw, which did not withdraw, and that was the beginning of my relationship with Sam.  His name was chosen by my daughter.  We don't know where he came from as none of our found posters elicited any response.  He was clearly used to charming humans and just flopped down when the dog sniffed him.  Luna, of course, was stiffly disapproving, but she isn't known as grumpy cat for nothing.  Sam was checked at the vet and declared a healthy, neutered male.  Sam settled into our lives as if he had always lived with us.  His personality as big as a house, he was always at the parties and gatherings.  When our new puppy arrived, Sam took to him and they became firm friends snuggling together on the couch or bed. Sam's love was food.  He would call me "Mel, Mel, Mel" and then sprint ahead of me to his room extending his rather large bulk up the door until I opened it.  This happened every single day.  If I was asleep, I would be wakened by his not so genteel stomping up the stairs.  Then, if I pretended to be asleep, a gentle patting with the paw was employed which slowly but surely became clawingly insistent.  If that failed to goad me into action I would be encouraged with biting. . .  The neighbours informed me that he was a thug, intimidating their kitties into giving him their food!  When Sam was put on diet because he weighed in at whopping eleven kilograms, he supplemented his diet with the local wildlife.  One morning I found the remains of two mice, a huge rat and parts of a pigeon.  Sam still ate his breakfast.  He did lose weight, but not much.  Luna moved out to live with my daughter and Sam stayed with us.  He seemed to thrive even more being an only cat.  He talked more and spent all his time in our company. Always there to greet, shouting from the top of the garage or splayed out on the paving for a tummy rub.  He quite often grabbed my dressing gown tie and led me around.  When my sleeping patterns went haywire I would come downstairs at three am to see his cat face at the door waiting for me. He would sit with me on the stairs as I drank my tea.  He was a very comforting presence.  At the beginning of June, Sam had what I thought was a scratch on his nose.  It would not heal and grew into a blob quite quickly so I took him to the vet.  Tests were done and it seemed Sam had a urinary tract infection which had to be cleared before removal of the possibly cancerous growth.  Sam seemed his usual self except he would pick at his biscuits and preferred soft food.  He was taken back to the vet for the operation on his nose.  That done, all once again, seemed fine.  The nose biopsy came back positive for hemagiosarcoma, a quite aggressive cancer, but the prognosis was not dire.  A few days later he suddenly developed huge weeping sores on his tummy, became lethargic and wouldn't eat or drink.  I made an emergency appointment for him early the next morning.  That afternoon, he was dead.  I visited him in the early afternoon and he greeted me, albeit a weakened version of himself.  When I returned to take him home later that evening, I just knew he was dying. He was cold and crying.  It broke my heart to tell the vet to put him out of his misery.  We said goodbye, both sobbing.  An IV was in situ so the vet did not have to move him.  He went peacefully.  I asked the vet to do an autopsy because we were unsure as to what exactly had happened.  We went home.  It was so quick, it was such a shock.  The vet kindly stayed late to perform the autopsy and called me to say that Sam had an enlarged right kidney and dark growths within both kidneys.  He died of renal failure. Poor brave Sam.  It is so quiet at home without his huge, comforting, purry self.  Angus, our bull terrier, searched for him in the days after he died.  I see flashes of him all the time and I swear I felt a nibble on my arm the other morning very early.

Bye Sammy, you were a cat in a million.