In Memory of Figaro

Last week, I was writing of Figaro's three-day disappearance, only to return unharmed. This week, I must tell of the end of his life.

Figaro and Tiger

On Friday night, I heard Figaro come in, crying loudly in distress. I checked him all over and found no sign of injury. His belly was somewhat tender, and he was hunched, but otherwise appeared to be reasonably okay. I carried him to my room, and let him settle in the closet. If he was still in distress in the morning, I would take him to the vet.

Saturday morning I found Figaro where I'd left him. I waded through the disaster that is my closet to touch him, and found him responsive, if a bit slow. After I had dressed, he was gone. I thought he was feeling better and had gone outside. I proceeded with my day, which involved moving furniture that had belonged to my church's most recent intern minister.

After returning home, I saw Tiger, but no sign of Figaro. This not being unusual for him, I was unconcerned. Later in the evening, a niggling voice in my head told me to look closer in my closet. I went back, and moving several items, I found Figaro had passed away quietly on the floor of my closet.

Figaro was a sweet, if somewhat demanding, kitty. He had a loud meow with which to demand the attention of his humans. When I went to bed, he would come in and interpose himself between my face and my book, insisting I must pet him, and do it right now. He would crawl into my lap and lay across my arm. If I ignored him, he would pat at my hands with his paws.

At some point, Figaro "picked" my husband as "his" human. Whenever my husband was home, Figaro would climb up on the bed and demand attention. My husband, who was somewhat lukewarm on cats, became a huge fan of this particular one. Figaro made him feel as if he was singularly loved by a cat.

A young Figaro is ready for his closeup

When Figaro was young, my daughter taught him to tolerate doing the "I'm a Kitty Cat Dance." This involves holding the cat upright under its armpits, and "dancing" it about while singing, "Cat, I'm a kitty cat! And I dance dance dance and I dance dance dance!" My daughter decided this was important for our cats to learn, and had started the tradition with Tiger. Figaro tolerated this indignity with good humor, and never sought revenge on any of his humans for this ridiculous behavior.

Figaro hides behind the fender of my new saddle to attack Tiger

Figaro and Tiger got along for the most part, but Figaro sure had a mean streak where it came to his adopted sister. Tiger would be resting quietly, and Figaro would proceed to leap all over her. Poor Tiger would hiss and growl, but she really didn't fight back much. Their relationship was not just torture, though. Many times they could be seen dashing about the yard playing. They would chase each other about and wrestle like littermates. I know Tiger will miss his presence as much as the rest of us.

It seems likely he died of some sort of poisoning. What he could have gotten into I've no idea. We have two neighbors, and we all get along, so I don't believe it could have been intentional. There was no evidence of rat poisoning, which would have been quite obvious. Because he died so quickly after displaying any symptoms, it is unlikely he could have been saved even if I had run him straight to the emergency vet on Friday night. It's more than a little scary not knowing why he died. I hope to have some answers from the vet in a few days.

Goodbye to my sweet little Figaro. You were young, but your life was a good one. Thank you for being our wonderful little cat.