Guy Varnum Grizzle, my sweet little murdercat, is gone. I took him to the vet yesterday afternoon because for the last week he had been acting disoriented, bumping into things, acting confused. It turns out Guy was in third stage kidney failure, had a heart murmur and a tumor on his thyroid, and he was partially blind, with blood in his retinas. His prognosis was not good, especially considering his age (15), and Michael and I decided not to prolong his suffering. When the doctor gave him the first shot to relax him, he fell asleep in my arms, snoring. Before that, he got to enjoy a Sunny Spot one last time, as the afternoon sunlight was coming through the vet’s window. He snuggled up against my arms and legs repeatedly, covering my shirt and pants legs in cat hair.

Guy was a very opinionated and vocal cat. He took his anarchism seriously. He alternated between trying to assassinate me and being very loving and cuddly. When people came to visit, he would usually run and hide, except for a very small number of humans he would tolerate or even like: my partner Michael Varnum, of course, and Guy’s backup staff human Charles Rutledge, and also Jessica Nettles, Adam Volle, and Donnie Ray. That’s it. That was quite enough humans for Guy. (I think Guy thought Donnie was a very tall cat, not a human.)

We lost Guy’s older brother Leonidas (Lenny) last year. It feels strange and unnatural, being in an apartment with no cats. I miss them both deeply. My heart feels like an empty cardboard box with no cats in it.