George Carlin once said that to have a pet is to ensure that tragedy will occur. I have been thinking about the wisdom in that observation, and have, up until about five minutes ago, been stoic about Felix's passing. I suppose that I was in shock about the whole thing. I kept myself together, for both Xavier and Oscar, and waxed philosophical. He was a good kitty, without question. He made me laugh from the first time I met him.

Felix came to me through my first social work internship. My then supervisor's (RIP) supervisor approached me one day and asked me if I would be interested in giving a kitten a home. Sure, why not? A pregnant cat had moved into her basement that April, seeking refuge from the street. On Easter Sunday, 1993, that cat, herself a tabby, gave birth to four kittens. One was a calico, one appeared to be part Angora, with a bluish grey mane of fur; and two were tabbies.

When the kittens were about six weeks old, I went to the Supervisor's house to meet the litter. I sat there, in the basement, watching the feline family interact with one another. The calico had already been claimed, and the Angora kitty was aggressive. The latter cat ate solid food with his mother weeks before the other kittens could do so; he seemed like a giant among his siblings. Would Oscar get along with him? Probably not. I continued to watch the clan, until one of the kittens broke away from the pack. I felt a little piece of fluff crawl up my leg, and met the kitten who would become Felix. He was sociable, and spunky; but not shy. I was smitten with kitten.

Two weeks later, the Supervisor came to my apartment to deliver Felix to his new home. At the time, we were living in a split-level apartment, with a basement and a main floor. Supervisor brought a small baggie with a little bit of the kitten's wee, per my request, which I promptly took to the den. The apartment had hardwood floors on the upper level, so we stored the litter box, the food and the water in my den, which was right off the living room. We kept paper goods downstairs, under the steps. After Supervisor left, I coaxed Felix into the den so that I could introduce his waste into the litter box in the hopes of making him understand that this was his new potty. He sat nearby as I opened the container, and put to waste in the sand. Before I could finish emptying the bag, the kitten jumped into the box and promptly peed. As Bush would later say, Mission Accomplished.

An hour later, Xavier got home from work. At the time, he was working two jobs, and he was tired. He went downstairs, and, in the blink of an eye, he brought up a four pack of toilet paper. Sitting atop that package, looking as cute as can be, sat the tiny prince. The kitten allowed himself to be carried upstairs like a sultan. Xavier was utterly charmed.

In the next few months, Felix began to explore his environment, with some hilarious results. Early on, he nursed off of Oscar. Keep in mind that Oscar is male! By the time summer rolled around, I spent a lot of time in the basement, studying for my exams. One fine afternoon, Oscar sat with me on the futon, minding his own business. In the blink of an eye, Felix came into the room and promptly mounted Oscar. He was unsuccessful, thank goodness. Even now, I chuckle at the thought of the two of them sitting there, with a full grown cat being molested by a kitten who was all of a quarter of his size. I nearly died laughing at that absurd sight. Within two weeks, we were able to get Felix neutered. Party time was over!

The next few years, the four of us hummed along as a family, with all our ups and downs. By August, 2002, we were finally financially able to visit my parents in San Diego without staying at their house. We put the boys in a kennel, and disappeared for a few days. By the time we got back, the boys were angry with us, for good reason. They did not like to stay with the noisy dogs.

Soon thereafter, Felix started loosing weight. When the fall season came along, Felix had gone from 12 pounds all the way to 7.75 pounds. He was, quite literally, near death. We tried to give him his medicine, which he took willingly at first. As he grew stronger, he fought me tooth and nail, refusing to comply. Finally, I decided to stop the medicine and let nature take its course.

Within a month, the little one had recovered his strength. Miraculously, he became his old self, albeit a bit thinner. He would remain scrawny the rest of his days. We thought that we would have lost him back in 2002, so we came to view the last five years of his life to be a precious gift. We never thought that he would live this long, and for that we are grateful.

I am relieved to be able to say that Felix did not suffer in his final days. In fact, he was jumping around and eating as usual up until Thursday morning. That morning, Xavier and I noticed that the kitten (he was always a kitten to us) had a swollen left eye. This was not uncommon, since he had experienced multiple eye infections over the years. When I got home that night, Felix stood watch at the top of the stairs. I walked up the steps, and was somewhat surprised to see that Felix did not scamper off when I approached. Both of the boys learned long ago that it would not be safe to be underfoot when I was around, what with my limping gait. When Felix stayed out, I knew that something was amiss. We would find out about his health the next day.

Hubby made an appointment with our regular vet for Friday morning, but we never made it. Late Thursday night (or, more accurately, Friday morning) we were woken by the sound of Felix wheezing. It was a horrifying sound, with him gasping for air. At first, hubby said that he would look up the symptoms on the Net, but it soon became apparent that he was terribly ill. We got the kitty carrier out, and forced him into it; even though he was sick, he still fought me on this issue. Finally, at three in the am, we drove to the Vet School Hospital, with Felix in tow. A vet student was standing on a traffic island with her dog when we arrived. She took the carrier inside, and we sat down on the sofa located in the lobby. Within a half hour, we were called back into the doctor's office, where we were asked about his medical history. Finally, we were told the bad news: Felix had a ruptured vessel that has bled into his left eye, and, to make matters worse, the poor baby had had a stroke. We made the only decision that we could in good conscious actually support: we opted not to use heroic measures. We could not let him suffer pain just for our own selfish desires. By four thirty, we had signed the papers allowing the Vets to euthanize him. When we saw him for the last time, we could see that he was in horrible pain. I believe we made the right decision.