Our sweetest cat, Bocca, died last Friday morning. We had found out about two weeks ago (on Monday the 13^th) that Bocca had a terminal disease. He had been losing weight for months, and the vet could not find anything wrong with Bocca when I took him to the vet’s last spring. We hoped it was due to older age (Bocca was about 13), and we kept an eye on him. He rebounded for a few weeks and put some weight back on, but then started losing it again. Finally, his voice started sounding high and weaker than it normally was, so I took him in to the vet’s again. This time, the vet was able to tell immediately that Bocca’s kidneys were swollen to three times their normal size. He said that meant either cancer or, more likely, an immune system disease that was attacking the kidneys. Either way, he indicated it was a terminal disease. He said we could try to treat it with antibiotics and appetite stimulants, and Bocca might get as much as 6 more months. If he did not respond to treatments, the vet said he might have as little as a week. Sadly, Bocca did not respond to the medicines, and we got 12 more days with him, of which the last 5 or so were very difficult on us and on Bocca. He just kept getting weaker and weaker, and he stopped eating last Sunday and stopped going to the bathroom last Tuesday or so. He could no longer walk, and had trouble even moving (crawling) on his own the last few days, especially Thursday and Friday. He would show some brief improvement to medications or fluids or special foods, so we never lost hope. Still, he had a rough Thursday night, so we made the decision to take Bocca in to the vet’s on Friday to see if there was anything left to try, but with the likely decision to put Bocca to sleep so he would not suffer. The vet got us in at 11:00. We took Bocca in, and sat in the waiting room. He was so weak that I did not feel he needed to be in a cage, so I held him and Meredith petted him. He let out a soft cry and moved once or twice, so I tried to make him comfortable. He settled in my arms, but his breathing was very labored. Mer and I were both crying, and a very nice lady gave up her spot to let us go first. We went in the examination room, and the doctor listened for a heartbeat. There was none. Bocca had died in my arms. The world’s sweetest cat had given us one more sweet gift – he had saved us from having to make the decision to put him to sleep.

Flash back to 1998. Meredith and I had gotten married in August, and we knew we wanted two kitties to make our apartment into a home. We both loved cats, and felt a home was not really a home without them. Mer did not feel as if she could go to a cat shelter and pick just one kitty (we were each going to pick one cat), so she had her good friend and former roommate Laura go with me to the shelter. So, in October of ’98, we went to Mer’s old neighborhood to a no-cage, no-kill shelter called Tree House. It was a three-story building with cats kept (mostly) on the upper floors. Laura and I went upstairs with a Tree House representative, and we saw a few kittens. There was a very small and fluffy kitten who had just (as in while we were in the lobby) been returned since the owner discovered she had allergies. Laura fell in love with the kitten, and so Macska (“Cat” in Hungarian) was adopted by the Riordan household by proxy. We continued to look around the shelter at the full-grown cats. I do not have a very distinct recollection of them now, 11 years later (I’m sure they were very cute). At some point, the Tree House representative asked me if I wanted to see the cats in the “socialization room.” These two rooms were where they kept cats that needed more time to get used to being with other cats and people. The outer room was a room for cats that had graduated from the other room; these were cats that still had some issues, but were getting close to being in the general population. I looked around this room, and there were cats everywhere. In the middle of the room was a platform of some kind (I think it was a fake tree, but it may have been a table). On this platform were two or three cats, and one of them was flopping and rolling around as we approached. The Tree House worker scratched the kitty on the belly, and he rolled around some more. I was charmed. I looked at other cats in the place, but the flopping, rolling tiger kitty had claimed me. I indicated that I wanted to adopt him. I was told there was a waiting period of one week to adopt a “socialization room” cat, but that did not deter me. We signed the papers and took Macska home, and I told Meredith we could get the other kitty, whom we decided to call Bocca (“Mouth” in Italian), in a week.

I went back to the Tree House to get Bocca, and they put him in a cardboard carrying case. I don’t remember if he cried much during the 15-minute trip, but based on later experience, I’m pretty sure he did. I looked in my rear-view mirror to see Bocca thrust his head through the top of the box and jump out. I quickly closed my window, but it was unnecessary as Bocca cowered in the very back of my hatchback. Once I got home, I climbed over all the seats to get into the hatchback without opening the doors. I got Bocca back into the cardboard carrier, and quickly got him in the apartment. Mer was waiting, and I opened the lid. Bocca stuck his head up, jumped out, and bolted straight into our bedroom and under the bed. He did not come out while we were around for at least a week. Mer was not really sure what he looked like, but the glimpses she could get by looking under the bed showed her a very handsome tiger cat with beautiful green eyes. We shoved food, water, and litter under the bed for several days, and Mer began to think I was crazy for picking a cat we would never see. Then, one evening when we were watching TV, we saw Bocca poke his head around the corner. He was very skittish and nervous, but he had come out from under the bed and immediately found his way into our hearts.

Bocca would always be skittish, even up to the last weeks of his life. Any loud noise would cause him to start up, and he would run into the bedroom and hide anytime someone knocked or rang the doorbell. If we had guests, it would take him hours, or even a full day (if they were spending the night) to come out to see what was going on.

As indicated early on by his breaking out of his cardboard box on the way home, Bocca was immensely strong for a cat. He may be the strongest cat I have ever encountered. Bocca got out of our apartment once the first few months when the door did not latch (the only time he ever got out of our home in 11 years). Happily, he went up the stairs to the second floor instead of going down the stairs toward the outside door. I heard him crying (he had a loud and desperate yowl when scared), and I ran upstairs and scooped him up. He did not resist being picked up, but as soon as I set foot in the apartment, he gave a mighty heave, scratched me and got away and ran under the bed. I still have the scar on my right arm.

We needed to take Bocca to the vet once right after we moved to Ohio in 2001. Shannon was over, and he said he would help capture Bocca. We isolated the downstairs as much as possible by closing doors, and warned Shannon that Bocca was very strong. Shannon told us not to worry; he had never had a cat get away from him before once he had the cat scruffed. I can still see Shannon diving at Bocca in the living room, getting him in a lock in his arms, and Bocca struggling madly. Bocca got away. Shannon got up off the floor and proclaimed  Bocca to be one heck of a strong cat.

Even with Bocca being strong and skittish, he was still one of the sweetest and most loving cats I have ever seen. Once he got used to us, he loved being with me and Mer. Unless he was deeply asleep, if we were home and on the couch, so was Bocca. When we went to bed, Bocca almost always came with us. Mer and I like to watch TV while we eat supper – it helps us unwind. For years we had a full-sized couch, and I would lie on my side facing the TV and Mer would sit up on one end of the couch. Bocca always had to be “in my curl” – he had to be curled up next to my stomach and curled-up legs. Many times, he was jumping onto the couch before I was even fully on the couch. When Mer graded on the couch, he was usually on the couch or on the back of the couch. Once I started having back problems, I started sitting up to eat. When that happened, Bocca adjusted by claiming the middle cushion on the couch. Mer would have one cushion, I would have one, and Bocca would have his own. That was a little sad for me; in our house, we have “kitty privilege” – when someone has a kitty, the kitty cannot be disturbed, so the other person has to wait on the kittied one. For years, I had perpetual kitty privilege when on the couch. Once I sat up, Bocca had his own cushion, and as often as not he would snuggle with Meredith.

Once we moved up to our current house, our couch wore out. We swapped it with a love seat that we had, but it only has two cushions. This created a bit of a space crisis since Bocca still wanted his own cushion. He got very good at wedging himself between us, and even started lying down on Mer’s lap. This was pretty amazing – for years Bocca would never sit in anyone’s lap, unless the lap was covered by a blanket. Our best guess was he never realized he was on a lap when it was covered up. But, for the last two years, especially the last year, Bocca has loved being on laps. He especially loved being on Mer’s lap, and would often leave mine once she sat down.

Bocca adored Meredith. There was no way around that. He simply loved her more than me. I am okay with that, since Bocca loved me too, but he loved his “Momma” best. I could always tell when Meredith was about to get home in the car because Bocca’s ears would perk up. I have no idea how he knew, but he did. He would leave my lap to go to hers, he would leave my side in bed to go to hers, he more often than not curled up by her feet for the night. Sometimes he would come to me when I called, but many times he would not. I’d then tell Mer to call “her” cat, and he would come over to us. Even in the penultimate week of his life, after we found out he was very sick, I was trying to get Bocca to come to the top of the bed so I could pet him. He was at the foot of the bed, and would not come. I told Mer to come and call him. She sat down and called him and he immediately came to the top of the bed to “get some lovin’.”  Even when he was so sick he could not walk, he still tried to climb up on the bed to get to Meredith. That cat absolutely loved love.

If I would carry Bocca to the bed with me, most of the time he would stay for a few minutes, but then he would jump down to go be with Mer. He would stay with her while she graded. He might be on the floor or on the coffee table on her papers, or he might be on the couch with her, but he loved being with her. The oddest display of this was in the last year we were in the New Baltimore house, when Mer took to reading or grading in a glider/rocker. Bocca loved her and wanted to be with her, but there was not very much room. His solution was to jump to the back of the chair and curl up around her neck like a shawl. It was very cute (but not always comfortable for Mer).

Bocca loved to eat as well. He was a snacker, eating small amounts all day long. Due to Macska having some digestive issues, we started feeding the cats special canned food once a day in the evening. If you forgot to feed the kitties, Bocca was there to remind you. He was a sweet cat, but his “feed me” cry was loud and grating. We told him he had an unlovely voice at times like that. He did not care as long as he got fed. Bocca eventually topped out right around 20 pounds. When I would carry him to bed, I carried him like a football – in both my arms, with his legs sticking straight down and his tail straight back. It was a pretty funny sight. One of our friends on seeing Bocca for the first time proclaimed, “It looks as if that cat has swallowed a meatloaf!” We always said that it took a lot of cat to hold that much love.

The weight started to have an effect on Bocca once we moved to our current house. Before he started losing his weight, he was having difficulty jumping up on the couches. He was still almost 20 pounds, and he was at the time about 11 years old. I think it was just too much for him. He then started losing weight because of the disease, but it gave him a very good year because of it. He was able to jump around on things again once he got down under 15 pounds. I think he enjoyed it. He took to jumping to the love seat by first getting on the old couch and leaping over to the love seat, a distance of about three feet. Our other two cats have never done that, but Bocca did it several times a week. I think he was just having fun.

Bocca had a few odd quirks. He loved shoes. He really loved shoes. If we left a pair of shoes lying around, he would lean on them while lying down. He loved to prop himself up while lying down. He would  lean on shoes, books, book bags, and he often propped himself up on the bricks of the woodstove hearth in the old house. He would lean against it with his shoulders above the brick line, and have one paw stretched straight out across the bricks. He looked for all the world like he was lounging at a bar. It could not have been very comfortable, but he did it all the time.

Bocca also used to flop hard on the floor. He would go from standing and fling himself down, sometimes on his side, and sometimes rolling over to his belly. He would do this when he wanted lovin’ and sometimes he would flop right in front of you while you walked. On rare occasions, he would even get up and flop in front of you again.

Bocca was the sweetest cat I have ever seen, to us. But if you were small and furry, then heaven help you. Bocca was a tremendously accomplished hunter. He caught and killed his last mouse just six weeks before he died. Right after we adopted Bocca, we gave him a slightly larger-than-life stuffed mouse. He grabbed it in his front paws, rolled over, and then raked it with his back paws. Stuffing flew everywhere. He had the mouse toy completely gutted in about one minute. It was most impressive.

We had a toy we called “the bird.” It was a few feathers on the end of a string on the end of a pole. When you whipped the pole around, the feathers would fly about and make a noise like a bird in flight. All the cats liked it, but Bocca was amazing at catching it. He would leap three or more feet straight up in the air (remember, he was over 15 pounds!) and catch it. Once he had it, it was very difficult to get him to let it go; I usually had to reach down and pry his paws off of it. He would then try to attack it again.

We had a mouse mini-infestation this spring where Bocca caught four mice. One night, I was trying to get him to let one of the mice go; he was playing with it by letting it go and catching it again, and I did not want the mouse to suffer. I wanted to catch it and let it go outside. I managed to get the mouse away from Bocca briefly, but he caught it again very quickly. He then very deliberately walked over to my boots that were on the floor. He stuck his head in my boot and let the mouse go in there, despite my “Not in the boot!” cries. At least I was able to get the mouse outside at that point.

Bocca had many endearing qualities: coming when we called, flopping on the floor for love, wanting to be on the couch and bed with us. But one of the more endearing qualities was displayed in the mornings. Bocca would often sleep at the foot of the bed, usually on Meredith’s side. He would stay there peacefully all night as far as I know. But as soon as we moved at all when waking up, he would come to the head of the bed for lovin’. If we ignored him, he would settle down again, usually curling up around Mer’s head. He would lie there and purr. We called it the “Bocca-lo” – part cat, part pillow.

In the last year, Bocca surprised us both. At night he started curling up with me, at least for a little while (he would then move back over to Mer). He always had to be up by my head, and always on the edge of the bed. He would wedge himself in the space even if I was already occupying it. It was very cute. He also started wedging himself in between us more often. We often joked about the “chastity cat” keeping us apart, but it made it possible for Bocca to be loved by both of us. Maybe at some level he knew what was happening to himself, and he wanted all the love he could get while he could get it.

Mer and I used to sing to Bocca. We had two songs we would sing to him all the time. One we would usually sing to him while we were dishing up his food and he would cry. Mer would sing beautiful harmony to it.

The other song we would sing just as a ditty, almost absentmindedly.

Bocca was a wonderful cat. We love our other two cats as well, but Bocca loved us in a very special way. He was sweet, and he really enjoyed being with us. Our home is very much diminished with him gone. I have cried 6 times in my adult life. I cried once when my grandmother died and once when my grandfather died. I actually cried at a play once. I then cried once when I found out Bocca was sick, once during the last week of his life, and once the day he died. Our friend James coined the term “happiness time bomb” to describe pets. They provide joy to our lives, but in most cases we outlive them, and that causes great grief. I am happy and thankful to have had Bocca in my life for the last 11 years. I will miss him greatly.