Otto, Distinguished Mayor of Cat Town

Otto, beloved long-time cat companion and zen master, passed away at the age of 21, July 13th, 2013.  He had been with me for 19 years.  Kitten Otto had a rough start, being tossed in a plastic bag and put in a dumpster.  He was rescued by a person nameless to me, an acquaintance of a friend.  He lived briefly with his rescuer, then with my friend, and at the age of 2, became my first companion animal.

I had grown up without animals, as my mother was deathly afraid of them, and my father, raised initially on a farm, believed animals were meant to have room to roam, and shouldn't be in urban environments.  Mostly, I learned from my mother to be afraid.

But somehow, I was always drawn to cats, and at the age of 29, I felt compelled to offer this one refuge when I was asked.  It was a decision that changed my life forever.

Otto was the first of my animals.  It took some getting used to, an animal leaping upon my bed at all hours of the night and plunking himself down right by my head, sometimes expecting me to move to accommodate his desire for a specific spot.  My heart would palpitate, a remnant of the fear my mother had instilled in me, and the several bad experiences I had with neighbor dogs as a child.  But I was determined to bond with this animal in a deeper way than just finding his antics amusing.  I moved whatever limb he required, and tried to focus on his breathing and need to be near.

As a young cat, Otto had boundless energy.  We bought him small foam soccer balls and he delighted in kicking and chasing them all around the main room of our apartment.  He was quite skilled, and invented many interesting maneuvers in order to flip the balls into the air and get a second chance at walloping them with his back paws.  I enjoyed his joy, my first inkling that this creature had a sophisticated consciousness and a deep well of feelings.

About a year and a half after Otto moved in with us, we purchased our first home.  He made the transition very smoothly, perhaps a remnant of the many changes he experienced as a kitten.  As long as there was food and water in the bowls, a clean place to relieve himself, and the people he loved, Otto was easy-going.  At this time, we were gone long hours working, and we became concerned the cat was lonely.  Coincidentally, a coworker of my husband had two cats needing a home due to a new baby with severe allergies.  These cats were one year younger than Otto, a brother/sister duo that had also had an unusual beginning, born to a feral mom in someone's backyard.

I saw the photos, and took my husband's word for the sweetness of the one he'd met, and thus began the Otto, Critter, and Pippi years of our lives.

With other cats in the house, Otto revealed another facet of his personality: imperiousness.  A gracious imperiousness, but a definite authority.  He did not behave aggressively, yet there was a clear expression of being in charge.  That he was a tuxedo cat just lent an air of humor to this trait.  He had a particular need to monitor Pippi, the girl cat.  She was a tortie, very petite, and extremely affectionate.  She had no difficulty integrating herself into our lives.  From the first moment, she looked at you like, "Oh, you'll be feeding me now.  Good.  I love you."  At bedtime the first night in our home, she jumped up on my side and proceeded to wrap herself around my head and purr loudly.  Otto took his usual spot in between my husband and me.  He and Pippi didn't fight, but they seemed to have an understanding.  She believed herself to be Queen, and Otto did not officially recognize this, but also didn't mind that she maintained the delusion.  As long as behavior met his standards of decorum, he was very mellow.

Critter was another story.  A large polydactyl black cat, he hid under the sofa for the first three days.  Pippi went about her business as if Critter didn't even exist, but Otto seemed genuinely concerned.  He sat by the couch, waiting.

And once Critter did emerge, Otto was there as a companion and support.  They became the best of friends, grooming each other, playfully wrestling, and jostling over the best sunny spots for napping.  They truly seemed to love each other.

And so our lives went. 

Adding a baby into the mixture was interesting, to say the least.  Otto bonded with our daughter from day one.  He was a protector and mentor, and taught her lessons in compassion, duty, and graceful living.  I am eternally grateful to him, and to all our animals for providing experiences only they could.  No child should miss out on what animals have to offer our souls.

As I observed these three creatures I gained a deeper appreciation for each of them as individuals, but also as a sort of society of cats. They were my companions, but additionally involved in a complex relationship with each other.  They had their individual resting spots, their personal quirks, but they also seemed to dance together, Otto leading, Pippi with a commanding air, and Critter as a sort of Jester figure, providing comic relief.  He could scare himself silly with his own tail, and he literally jumped, like a cartoon cat, with all four limbs fully extended.  He slinked across the floor like Groucho Marx whenever the doorbell rang.  He also thought he was invisible if he just stood very still.

Pippi expected a chair to be provided for her at our table during all mealtimes.  If you forgot, she gently patted you on the hip with her delicate paw. 

Otto wanted the beds made and the floor swept every morning, first thing.  He monitored and supervised this activity.

Critter liked to sit on newspapers, and on the edge of the bathtub, sometimes very cautiously testing the water with his big paw.

Critter also loved Isis.  She was a long-haired cat that lived with us for too short a time.  She was a neighbor's cat that preferred our porch to her own, and when a dog joined her family, she refused to go home at all.  We took her in, but our animals, with the exception of Critter, did not.  Otto, Pippi, and Isis hissed and chased and marked their territories.  Critter tried to sit next to her, reaching out with that big, five-toed paw and petting her fluffy white tail.  Isis was not amused, and Critter always seemed saddened that he could not win her affection.

She died young, of a heart condition.  Her intense anxiety probably didn't help.  I felt so sad that we could not find a way to help all the animals get along with her.  But this is life.  It's not always smooth sailing, and at the end you can only rest knowing you did your best.

My animals taught me so many lessons.  Otto managed to live almost two years as an only, elderly cat.  He provided lessons in graceful aging in a way no person could.  He was diabetic, most likely near-blind, and you could tell his joints were stiff and achy.  Yet each day he went about his routine, never varying, always the optimist that food would appear, ice cubes would be had in the water dish, and occasionally even kicking around a soccer ball, playing with string, or chasing a laser.  He LOVED his stairs made by my daughter and husband to ease his burden.  He liked to sit on the back porch with us, observing the beautiful sunsets, and smelling the fresh air.  He greeted me at the door, no matter what hour I returned home.  And regardless of hearing loss, he never failed to appear when the refrigerator door opened. 

When his time came, he made sure we were all with him, patiently waiting for me to come home from work, greeting me with a look of imperiousness, as if to say "Where the hell have you been?"  He tried so hard to remain with us, a fighter until the end.

But that end did come.  Not a day goes by that I don't think of him.  Miss him.  Hope that he'll guide me somehow to another animal that will teach me more lessons I need to learn.

Farewell, Little Buddy, Honorable Mayor of Cat Town, the ever distinguished, Otto.

Namaste.