My wife and I used to have three cats; Rascal, Scamp, and Mugsy.
Rascal died in 2017 of a heart condition. She was 12. Scamp died one week ago today, after a sudden and severe illness. He was 16.
Only Mugsy remains now. We have no idea how old he is, and he’s our most difficult cat, in several ways.
Mugsy isn’t a bad cat, but his behavior can be difficult. He’s a notorious nibbler if he gets excited, and has clawed and bitten several houseguests when he gets carried away. When he plays he can get rough, so we have to keep a toy between our limbs and him. When he wants something his preferred method of getting attention is to knock things over or claw at the wall, which has the effect of nails on a chalkboard.
He’s also difficult to read, especially now that he’s the only cat in the household. For the past week Mugsy has been out-of-sorts and it’s been hard to determine what he wants from us. Is he hungry? Does he want to play? Is he looking for affection? It’s always been hard to figure out what he wants from us, but now even the signals we learned to decode have been turned sideways.
Mugsy has never been the only animal in a household. Before we adopted him he was one of many pets in a crowded environment. Our friend took him in, where he became one of two cats. When my friend had to move to an apartment that didn’t allow pets, we volunteered to look after him, joining Rascal and Scamp in our household. There have always been other pets around, and while Mugsy isn’t alone now thanks to my ability to work from home, he’s still unaccustomed to this new arrangement.
It’s difficult to determine if he misses Scamp. The two of them were never really close. They fought often and were more like roommates or colleagues than companions. One of Mugsy’s preferred methods of getting attention was to torment Scamp until we were forced to step in to see what he wanted from us. They never cuddled. They’d lick one another on rare occasions, but it would soon be followed by swats to the face and hissing.
Rascal never accepted Mugsy, not one moment of one day, until the day she died. If she could’ve spoken I’m certain her last words to him would’ve been “fuck you.”
While our hearts are still mourning Scamp’s passing and adopting a new cat is something we’re not ready for, we’re having difficulty determining if that would actually be beneficial for Mugsy. Despite always having been around other animals, whenever he sees an outdoor cat in our neighborhood he freaks the hell out. He begins to tremble and claw at the windows. He paces very nervously and makes strange howling meows. Would introducing a new cat actually be good for him, or would we only see that reaction amplified to a place of real violence? As with most cats, there’s no way to know until you try, but our hearts are not there yet.
The most difficult thing, for me, about having Mugsy as the last remaining pet in our household is that he doesn’t give a shit about me whatsoever. He adores my wife and my son. She is the only one he allows to pick him up and cradle him like a baby. He howls for attention from my son when he comes home from school. Whenever any guest comes over he runs up to them, purring and rubbing himself against their feet in excitement. But me? If Mugsy could speak I’m certain his words to me would be “…the fuck do you want?”
I’ve never been the spare human to a cat before, and I am firmly that with Mugsy.
We love him very much. Despite his difficult behaviors he is a very sweet cat who is capable of great displays of affection, playfulness, curiosity, and intelligence. Now that he is the only pet in our house we’ve been extra attentive to him, realizing that he must be going through a difficult transition as well, even if we’re having difficulty determining the nature of it.