The Life of Riley

There’s been another male sharing my bed for the last eight years.

I first fell in love with him when my daughter sent a somewhat desperate email in 2008 with his picture. He had beautiful blue eyes and a mane of soft luxurious hair. He was so so so cute!

OK so I need to stop with the Buzzfeed type gotcha lead-in sentences; yes, Riley was a cat. And now he’s dearly departed. And I miss the old guy like, well, like a sweet buddy who has devotedly followed you around for eight years.

A friend of my daughter’s roommate was seeking a new home for her eight-year-old cat, Riley. She was facing that frequent dilemma: my boyfriend or my cat? The boyfriend apparently won out; she said it tore her heart in two, but she needed to find a loving home for Riley.

My daughter brought him home to us for a weekend visit, to see if he adjusted to us and we to him. He was Himalayan and the most gorgeous cat (in my eyes) we ever owned: beautiful white coat of long fur and azure eyes. After cowering a few hours behind my washing machine in the utility room, he came out and eventually made up to us.

He was sociable, debonair, devoted, and dignified. He amused our visiting female family members by sitting on, playing in, and sniffing their intimate clothing if they happened to leave items laying on a floor or bed somewhere.

His previous owner, or someone, had had his claws removed, which meant he was an indoor cat. Or should have been, but the call of the wild “I wanna go out”* was strong. Guardedly, we allowed him walkabouts since we live in the country. He would step gingerly on the grass as if luxuriating in the thick carpet. We watched him closely, for fear neighbor dogs or dipping hawks would spy the slow and juicy target, since he had no claws to defend himself.

But basically he was a pampered indoor cat who nobly tolerated our dogs, first Fable and more recently, the new kid on the block, Velvet. We owned another stray when Riley moved in with us, by name of Pixie. Pixie developed an open sore which would not heal, likely cancer, and had to be put down a year or two later. Eventually my youngest daughter, living at home a few years post college, pleaded to adopt newborn Paisley, a farm cat whose mother died and needed not only a home, but early syringe feedings. The two cats were a picture; I took lots.

So Riley ruled our animal world with his gentle ways. As he grew older, his soft fur grew more matted. We had to have him shaved at the beginning of most summers. They say a cat’s tongue loses some of its natural roughness which enables them to comb out tangles.

Sharing a water bowl with new dog, Velvet.

In the last two years he also began having thyroid problems causing him to urinate frequently; we consulted a vet, who wanted to put him on medication and a special diet. As a Himalayan, he was subject to hairballs and frequent vomiting anyway, all his life. I’d love to have the money back I spent on paper towels. But we were reluctant to invest heavily in medical care for an aging cat. I did not wish to manage keeping our two cats apart while eating, especially through the day when we were both gone.

About two weeks ago he could no longer jump up onto the bathroom counter to get a drink, which he adored. His barely ate. I sensed his time was ending.

Our family came home for Easter and grandson Sam discovered the joys of Riley, even though Riley was less sure about his new little friend.

The Sunday after Easter, Riley enjoyed what turned out to be one final walkabout.He pushed his way out the patio door onto our gated deck, where I thought he could safely take in the fine spring day. But then he slithered through the rails of the deck and jumped to the ground, even though our dog was right below, playing with neighbor dog, “Blue.” Velvet and Blue just kind of stood back and followed the old guy as he took his lingering walk to the newly tilled garden.

He headed back of our shed, and I think he might have just kept on walking through the pasture, maybe down to our woods to pass away quietly, I don’t know. But we intervened of course, brought him back inside. We worried through Monday night. Tuesday morning I could see his breathing was very shallow. I covered him with a towel. He did not seem to be in great pain. Should we put him down, shorten his suffering? I decided to go home over lunch on Tuesday and resolved to call the vet if he was still struggling. I had a busy day (and week) but thought I could squeeze in a humanitarian visit to the vet. But Riley saved us and himself a final, possibly painful move and trip. He was at peace. We buried him on a knoll overlooking our land, near the dog, Fable.

Can you find all three pets in this picture?

This past Saturday morning doing my routine cleaning, I found a small clump of his hair near a wastebasket in the bathroom. It was a piece I’d trimmed out earlier. Oh. Such soft fur. Such a sweet cat. He will live on in pictures, memories, and stories. As is always the case when we lose a loved one, I had flashbacks of “oh he should be sitting there in his chair.” No Riley hopping up onto the bar stool beside me as we eat. No begging for that morsel of buttered toast he’d come to love. No climbing up beside me and plopping himself in front of my computer monitor, to my annoyance. I’d coax him to the side, tell him to sit over there, and I tapped the desk impatiently to show him where. Some of these things I’ll miss. Some of them I am happy to have over. Pets are a good reminder of the care needs we all have as we age.

The truth is, I was not that much of a cat person. Riley charmed his way into my heart with his big blue eyes. I would have to count him as the first cat I called “mine.” Oh, as a Mom, I may have been chief cat caretaker but seldom really took time to do more than feed, water, clean litter boxes, take them for shots, and perfunctorily pet them now and then.

Riley was one of God’s creatures who needed love and care: we gave him both. He gave back his own devotion and affection. I will always remember his eight year sojourn in our home.

RIP Sir Riley Davis — 2000-2015; shown here with Fable, our dog from 2001 – 2013. I wrote about Fable’s passing here. We buried them near the same spot.

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Have you ever had a pet who you came to love unexpectedly? How? I’d love to hear.

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My thanks to Pert Shetler and Kathy Duford at Waterway Animal Hospital for all of their informal pet advice.

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The Garrison Keillor Cat Song can be found here: