When my wife first moved in as my girlfriend, she came with two cats to add to my one cat. One of those two cats was Auzz. He was a small, white, blue-eyed, deaf Turkish Angora she’d adopted as a kitten and was now a senior. Shortly after moving in, he found some bourbon buttercream I was making for cupcakes, and he immediately became a permanent fixture in my kitchen (and my hobby table). My wife feels more loss than I do now that he’s gone, but this is my blog so I’m just going to talk about my experience.
Auzz really loved only four things. Food, cuddles, my wife, and me. But he loved those things with an unrestricted passion. Turkish Angoras usually only decide on one or two people to get close to, and I got lucky. Bedtime was his favourite time and he always cuddled up to my wife- but if he could manage it, he did so with either an eye on me or a paw on me. He’d jump into my lap when I sat down or laid down, regardless of how inconvenient it might be at the time, then purr and curl up into a donut. He didn’t like pets so much, he just wanted to press up against the people he loved. He was a very loving cat and showed it at every opportunity.
His love for food really, really, really changed how I operated in the kitchen. My wife assures me that he didn’t care about kitchens until he found my cooking, and he loved the food I made. We had to lock cabinets because he’d break stuff trying to sniff out my baking. I had to keep the sink either empty of dishes or only with well-rinsed ones because every couple of hours he’d pop in to see if I’d left him any treats sticking to the sides of bowls. He reacted terribly to fats and the amount of baths he had to get after licking butter or olive oil and spraying poop all over the litter box is uncountable. But I’d trade daily baths to have him back.
Whenever I was in the kitchen, he would come to help. Angoras generally try to participate in what their humans are doing, and the kitchen has always been my spot. Auzz had his spot when we hung out so he could watch me and offer to taste test. Unfortunately, his spot was on top of the garbage can (which had a lock just like the cabinets to stop him from ripping out scraps and making himself sick). Whenever I had to throw something out, I’d have to leave it on the counter beside the can, or eventually pat his butt until he hopped off to do a lap around the house- and then come right back and hang out some more.
He only passed recently- quickly and without pain- and we got to hold him and comfort him on the way out. My wife and I are still really raw. Everything in the kitchen reminds me of him and I feel sick when I look around and realize he’s not there causing me trouble. I can leave splashes of soup on the stove because he’s not going to hop up and lick it when I turn my back. I can stack bowls in the sink while I bake and cook because he’s not going to make a little “clink” noise poking his head into them for icing or chicken. I can throw everything out immediately without waiting for him to get out of the way. He’s not sitting by the kitchen window watching birds and squirrels. So much of what I do in my hobby was changed to make space for him.
I know, intellectually, that it’s going to stop hurting this much. He’s not the first loved one I’ve lost. I know it’s the price of love to miss them when they’re gone. But right now I can’t even eat without seeing the empty space where he used to be, and breaking down.
