Cat Tales

This year has been the worst, and Halloween turned out to be the saddest ever, as my beloved Salem passed away.

After weeks of vet visits and a continual decline in his health, we finally discovered what was happening. He was referred to another clinic in the Fargo area, and I took him there as a last resort for answers and treatment.

He spent most of the day at the clinic, where they drained 450 ml of fluid from his swollen abdomen and conducted several blood and urine tests. This time, the results finally indicated that something was seriously wrong. He was admitted for the night and placed on fluids, and an ultrasound done the next morning revealed swollen lymph nodes, along with other issues with his organs.

Salem had lymphoma cancer, and it was rapidly spreading.

I received the call while I was at therapy—what timing to get such news. After I broke down in tears and called my mom and boyfriend, I hurried to Fargo to pick up my baby boy and spend time with him. It was a long car ride, and I made two round trips to Fargo in just two days (Tuesday and Wednesday).

When I got him home, he just collapsed and didn’t leave my bed for several hours. Then he started getting restless, moving to the floor, then the cat bed, the cat tree, and by morning, he had hidden himself away and didn’t show up until that evening when he appeared on my mom’s bed.

He completely refused all food and water, taking only a tiny lick of cream before going back to sleep. I knew the time was coming; I just thought I had a little longer to enjoy his company.

On Halloween, he seemed extra restless. I thought it was just the steroids he had been prescribed. I went out to cover my events, while my boyfriend stayed home to hand out candy. When I got home, I found Salem on my chair, looking particularly rough. As trick-or-treating came to an end, my boyfriend told me that Salem had been purring a lot. He hadn’t done that in days. Then I heard it. It wasn’t his normal purr; I could tell he was passing, and I just lost it. Then he started chirping. We were beside ourselves; it was painful to witness. I called the vet to end his suffering. I cried the whole way there. Salem, sick of the vet visits, passed away in my arms just as we walked in the door.

It’s fitting that the little black cat who showed up in October four years ago—named for the witchy history any black Halloween cat should have—would pass away on Halloween. He is being cremated.

This little boy, with the softest and shiniest black fur and a loud purr, was my constant shadow. He was always near me, or at least within eyesight. My neighbor had found him in a ditch and brought him to my house, this tiny, six-toed ball of fur. He immediately curled up next to my neck. He would paw at my arm or leg for attention and loved his ancient, torn-up green mouse on a stick. He would drag that toy everywhere; you could hear him coming up and down the stairs. He would crawl onto my chest to cuddle, staying close to me all night, always twitching his tail like a dog. If his tail wasn’t moving, he wasn’t happy. He enjoyed wrestling with his fellow house panther, King, who hasn’t stepped foot in my room since Salem’s passing. He loved to be held—not carried, just held—and he made the biggest mess with the drinking fountains. I had to get large silicone mats because he would sit there and play with the water, then jump on my lap with wet paws.

I loved this cat so much, and four years was not long enough. I’m grateful that he isn’t suffering anymore, but it doesn’t hurt any less. I will miss you, my baby boy.