The people who found you in the alley called you Cowboy. We called you Moogs, Moogers, Moogerton, Mr Moogs, Meesta, Two Meestas, Beef, Roast Beef, Roast Beefy Weefy, Kitty, Kitty cat, Long cat, Kitty kitty, Pretty kitty, and Meow meow. Those were all your names.
Today we had to say goodbye to our cat Moogs (pronounced “Moo” like the cow says + “gs”). He was nearly 19 years old, which is about all you can ask for from a great cat. A senior cat with a thyroid problem – so his passing is not an incredible surprise – but he took a sudden downturn over the weekend. He died in his sleep.
My wife adopted him before we were even dating in 2006. I never had a cat, was more of a dog person, and I made it my mission to befriend the cat to win her over. I succeeded in my goal and he let me hold him like a baby. Little did I know he would spend the next 18 years of my life with him sitting on my body for warmth and waking me up at six in the morning.
When we lived in LA he would perch majestically on the sills of the open windows basking in the warm sun’s rays because that’s how LA’s perfect weather works. He’d hop in-and-out of the house, hunting, cruising, and getting into tussles with the other alley cats. We paid a lot in vet bills but he had a good life jumping along the craftsman rooftops.
He didn’t enjoy moving to Austin, he howled the whole 1400 mile journey and when we got to Austin, he hid himself in the exposed soffit of our mid-remodel kitchen. After two weeks he came out and got used to the new home and got comfortable being an indoor-outdoor cat again. He’d spend days in our neighbor Cleo’s wisteria bushes hunting small birds. He was there when we adopted our dog Rudy and learned to hold his own against dogs. And he was there when we brought our babies home from the hospital and he learned to tolerate toddlers.
When we moved a second time to North Austin, he didn’t like that move either. He quit going outside as much and I think after that his quality of life started to decline. Three years ago, I noticed he was losing weight, felt like a skeleton with fur, and was extra ornery about food. The vet diagnosed him with hyperthyroidism and he needed to be on medication.
Moogs was sweet and friendly – well, as friendly as cats can be. When guests came over he would saunter into the room and find the person most allergic to cats and nuzzle them. He had an uncanny talent for that. He was social, but not. He would give an affectionate little headbutt whenever he wanted attention. He’d knead his claws into your thigh when you tried to watch television. And he’d prowl the house at night and wake you up with a butthole to the face. Cats, man. Cats.
Moogs was an incredible cat. My first and probably only cat, to be honest. I won’t miss his howls for breakfast each morning, but I will miss the soft brushes against my legs to say hello. He was a part of our family from the beginning, it will be different without him.