Barry Baker
Aug. 28th, 2018 12:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kithrupThe first week of January, 2011, was a rough week for me -- on the last day of 2010, I lost my cat Norman. I was in mourning and not doing well. But I was in Saratoga, and went into the Petco despite them having an HSSV annex. And in the open cat room, there was a beautiful, long-haired ginger & cream boy. He looked a lot like Norman. I went in and sat down on the couch, and this cat -- then named Julius -- came over to investigate me. He let me pet him, and curled up a foot so away from me. The staff told me that he didn't do that to anyone; I learned later that he disliked small children. I called Gale, who was in China at the time, and showed her a video, and she said of course we had to take him. I delayed his coming home for a couple of days, and brought him home on Wednesday, and then took Thursday and Friday off from work so I could be around for him.
He went into the back bedroom, which was nice and large, and had its own bathroom, so I could get him used to the house. I followed all of the new cat rules, but mostly I spent multiple hours a day there. During the next week, when I got home from work, I'd spend time with the other cats, then go back and read with the cat I renamed Barry (because when he was happy, he'd flop on his side and "make biscuits"). I discovered that, when he was really happy, he'd chirp while purring.
I started letting the other cats meet him. At the time, I was reading Carrie Vaughn's Voices of Dragons, which was hilarious because there was a scene in the book involving Our Heroes (a girl and a dragon) being started at by a bunch of other dragons, and that scene so closely replicated the on-the-edge-of-violence that all the cats were doing at that moment.
Barry was a large cat; based on the fur on his paws, and his size, I figured he had some Maine Coon or Norwegian Forest cat in him. He fit well into the household, being content to be the bottomost cat.
We ran into issues when a fifth cat showed up -- a siamese-looking boy I named Ricky, who insisted on trying to dominate Barry, which would have been ok except Ricky was very active about it. Fortunately, Ricky found a new home with some friends, and things settled down well.
About a year after we got him, we started seeing some Chinese currency show up, in places we didn't think Gale had left it. We eventually realized that he was making little meowing sounds while carrying paper that had been chewed or shredded; this was particularly unusual because Barry was a quiet cat -- he only meowed when in the cat carrier to go to the vet. He was bringing us presents, and announcing it, we decided. We eventually got video footage of it, and it was very clear: Barry would find some piece of paper, bite and claw it to shred it, and bring it somewhere near one of us. And then he'd announce it. He was very picky about the shape it was in: the video showed him shredding a piece of paper, looking at it, shredding it some more, moving it to a slightly different location, looking at it again, and then announcing it.
We encouraged this, because he was the only cat I've met who made art. So he got praised and petted and cuddled.
Like most long-haired cats I've known, Barry liked having his belly rubbed. He would curl up next to me on the couch, and roll over, and encourage me to pet his belly and armpits and neck. Sometimes he'd just look up to me with absolute love.
And other than the art, that was the defining aspect of Barry: he loved me more than anything. He loved me more than food, and treats, and catnip.
He started losing weight. Nothing scary at first, and I'd had to switch to a diet kibble because of Dusty and Leo, so some weightloss was expected. But then he kept losing weight. And then, in late 2017, he started having issues with diarrhea. We had to take him to Sage Centers, where he got xrays, sonograms, and eventually an endoscopic exam and biopsy. The diagnosis was small-cell lymphoma in his intestines.
This was in December of 2017. Seanan McGuire had the same thing happen to her, with her cat Alice, in August. And she was as prolific on twitter about documenting it as she is in writing, so I used that as a baseline.
I can't go through the details from December to today. I've done so elsewhere, and they were moments of pain, and moments of relief. But after a short bit of hope, he went back to losing weight.
The past three nights, he hadn't made any artwork.
Last night I noticed he was unsteady while walking.
This morning he wouldn't get up for food. When I brought him into the bathroom with the best food, he turned away... and stumbled. Couldn't stand up.
I brought him into the living room, which is carpeted, and tried to get him to stand. He started having a seizure. He was making sounds of pain.
I called vets. His oncologist was not working today. After being on hold too long, I called his normal vets, who are much closer. The guy on the phone listened to me (which was difficult, I was having a hard time talking), and said we could come right in.
The vet did a brief exam. Saw him unable to walk well. Told me it was time.
She took him away, and brought him back, sedated and with a catheter. He had another, worse seizure. She gave the injections... but he was gone, I could tell. No reaction in his eyes.
She pronounced him gone.
Barry was the best cat for me. He loved me more than anything, and he comforted me, and made me laugh. He helped me sleep. He looked to me for comfort in return, and I tried to give it to him as best I could.
I don't know how I can handle a world without him in it.
He went into the back bedroom, which was nice and large, and had its own bathroom, so I could get him used to the house. I followed all of the new cat rules, but mostly I spent multiple hours a day there. During the next week, when I got home from work, I'd spend time with the other cats, then go back and read with the cat I renamed Barry (because when he was happy, he'd flop on his side and "make biscuits"). I discovered that, when he was really happy, he'd chirp while purring.
I started letting the other cats meet him. At the time, I was reading Carrie Vaughn's Voices of Dragons, which was hilarious because there was a scene in the book involving Our Heroes (a girl and a dragon) being started at by a bunch of other dragons, and that scene so closely replicated the on-the-edge-of-violence that all the cats were doing at that moment.
Barry was a large cat; based on the fur on his paws, and his size, I figured he had some Maine Coon or Norwegian Forest cat in him. He fit well into the household, being content to be the bottomost cat.
We ran into issues when a fifth cat showed up -- a siamese-looking boy I named Ricky, who insisted on trying to dominate Barry, which would have been ok except Ricky was very active about it. Fortunately, Ricky found a new home with some friends, and things settled down well.
About a year after we got him, we started seeing some Chinese currency show up, in places we didn't think Gale had left it. We eventually realized that he was making little meowing sounds while carrying paper that had been chewed or shredded; this was particularly unusual because Barry was a quiet cat -- he only meowed when in the cat carrier to go to the vet. He was bringing us presents, and announcing it, we decided. We eventually got video footage of it, and it was very clear: Barry would find some piece of paper, bite and claw it to shred it, and bring it somewhere near one of us. And then he'd announce it. He was very picky about the shape it was in: the video showed him shredding a piece of paper, looking at it, shredding it some more, moving it to a slightly different location, looking at it again, and then announcing it.
We encouraged this, because he was the only cat I've met who made art. So he got praised and petted and cuddled.
Like most long-haired cats I've known, Barry liked having his belly rubbed. He would curl up next to me on the couch, and roll over, and encourage me to pet his belly and armpits and neck. Sometimes he'd just look up to me with absolute love.
And other than the art, that was the defining aspect of Barry: he loved me more than anything. He loved me more than food, and treats, and catnip.
He started losing weight. Nothing scary at first, and I'd had to switch to a diet kibble because of Dusty and Leo, so some weightloss was expected. But then he kept losing weight. And then, in late 2017, he started having issues with diarrhea. We had to take him to Sage Centers, where he got xrays, sonograms, and eventually an endoscopic exam and biopsy. The diagnosis was small-cell lymphoma in his intestines.
This was in December of 2017. Seanan McGuire had the same thing happen to her, with her cat Alice, in August. And she was as prolific on twitter about documenting it as she is in writing, so I used that as a baseline.
I can't go through the details from December to today. I've done so elsewhere, and they were moments of pain, and moments of relief. But after a short bit of hope, he went back to losing weight.
The past three nights, he hadn't made any artwork.
Last night I noticed he was unsteady while walking.
This morning he wouldn't get up for food. When I brought him into the bathroom with the best food, he turned away... and stumbled. Couldn't stand up.
I brought him into the living room, which is carpeted, and tried to get him to stand. He started having a seizure. He was making sounds of pain.
I called vets. His oncologist was not working today. After being on hold too long, I called his normal vets, who are much closer. The guy on the phone listened to me (which was difficult, I was having a hard time talking), and said we could come right in.
The vet did a brief exam. Saw him unable to walk well. Told me it was time.
She took him away, and brought him back, sedated and with a catheter. He had another, worse seizure. She gave the injections... but he was gone, I could tell. No reaction in his eyes.
She pronounced him gone.
Barry was the best cat for me. He loved me more than anything, and he comforted me, and made me laugh. He helped me sleep. He looked to me for comfort in return, and I tried to give it to him as best I could.
I don't know how I can handle a world without him in it.
