Requiescat in Pace, Shredder

My best boy Shredder died Saturday morning, May 23. I am bereft.

He was my friend, and my love, for the 10 years since I adopted him at 9 years old in 2026. He died at nearly 20 years old. He was emaciated in advanced kidney disease and in mental confusion, but thank God, he knew me to the last, and came to me to be held all this time as he declined.

I can’t do better for an obituary than the piece I wrote about him a few years ago, which is re-posted below.

Today, after Mina has a chance to see and smell his body, I will wrap him in a shroud and bury him in a nice corner of the stone wall near the tree where the robins have nested to raise their babies this spring.

Here he is on the first night I brought him home in 2016. He chose me, and I chose him, and he climbed onto the bed with me, but we were still negotiating boundaries.

Here he is in the first month with me, having made it his home. This traumatized cat trusted me; it was fate. We were made for each other.

A month in: He was so beautiful, and so very much his own personality.

One of his last nights with Mina. He knew her from kittenhood, and they have not just tolerated, but truly loved each other. She had just got done gently grooming him. This picture is from May 21, 2026:

Ecclesiastes 3:18-20
I said in mine heart concerning the estate of the sons of men, that God might manifest them, and that they might see that they themselves are beasts.

For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath; so that a man hath no preeminence above a beast: for all is vanity.

All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.

---

The Love of a Cat

-First published 2022

It’s special, because you have to work to earn it with so many cats.

They are not dogs. They do not have dog ways. They are not pre-disposed by selective breeding to immediately unconditionally love humans.

They have a cat temperament, and a cat disposition. It is naturally more reserved and suspicious. Like me. There’s a reason I get along with feline kind.

This is Shredder.

He is about 15 years old, and 15 strong pounds (down from 22 pounds when I adopted him).

Shredder was nine years old when his former owners, an elderly couple, brought him to the shelter. He was matted down to the skin. They couldn’t care for him properly.

He languished there for months because he was a biter. Ever in bite quarantine. They warned potential adoptors about this.

Well, I’d bite too if my humans abandoned me in a concrete building filled with 20 other animals squawking and no place to get away from it.

On my first visit, he came to me when I called him and let me pet him. And then he scratched me hard and drew blood.

On my second visit, he came to me again, and let me pick him up. And I did, because I was in love and my heart would have broken to leave him there.

I think Shredder had some feline version of PTSD. He wanted love and attention, but he’d turn aggressive and fighty in the middle of it.

In the first few months, he bit me several times, hard. Sunk his fangs right into the web of my thumb.

Didn’t care. He might be a biter, but he was my biter now. You don’t ever abandon an animal you’ve taken the responsibility for. He’s yours now.

As a boy, I loved cats more than most people. They were always good to me, and I was good to them. My mother, being who she is, gave away every cat who came into our lives and who we children bonded with and loved. When they became inconvenient, they disappeared to someone else’s house, or to a shelter.

It’s been six years since Shredder came to live with us. Several cats have come, and died, during that time. One, little Mina, came the same year as a kitten and they fell in love with each other. This little tabby cuddles with her big brother, and he bathes her every morning with his tongue.

Over these six years, Shredder has learned how much he really does like attention and affection from humans. He asks for it. Sometimes by putting his paws up on your legs and asking for a shoulder ride.

This past year, he’s taken to coming to my bed after breakfast and laying on top of me, or right beside me. This is a big change from when he was new to the house.

I like to think that Shredder and I did some PTSD recovering together during that period. In 2016, when I adopted him, I had the final confrontation, the “divorce” from my mother. My three cats died that same year, including my best girl of 17 years, Mink.

It was such a horrible year I didn’t really want to live, and I sure didn’t think I’d ever be close to “happy” again. Thankfully, I was wrong.

We helped each other, this cat and me.

I love you, Shredder.