Goodbye, Mr. Wonder Cat

This is the story of Walter, the One-Eyed Wonder Cat.

Over a Christmas trip to Texas in 2014, Andy and I decided that we were ready to welcome a new furry loved one into the family. I began perusing the La Plata County Humane Society website and saw a photo of a skinny, part Siamese/part tabby cat named Walter Matthau. He was almost nine years old already. He was a handsome fella. I fell in love.

On January 2, 2015, we made our way to the shelter as soon as it opened. Walter nuzzled us through the bars on his cage. One eye had been removed due to infection only three weeks earlier when his previous owner surrendered him.

When we took him out of his cage and onto the floor to get to know him, Walter began spinning in tight circles. A member of the shelter staff said she didn’t know why – maybe a result of his operation or a neurological problem. She took him from the room to be checked out by the vet.

Andy and I sat on a bench in the cat room. I began crying. Andy teared up. I held his hand and said I understood if he’d rather not adopt him. We sat there a few seconds before Andy said, “Fuck it. We’re taking him.” He strode to the front desk, me on his heels. We announced that we wanted to adopt Walter Matthau. The staff were literally stunned but recovered quickly and were all smiles. We took Walt home and he changed our lives forever.

We put his cat bed at the foot of our bed that first day – just to keep him close while we bonded. From that point on, he refused to sleep in it unless it was on our bed. That same evening, Andy was reading in bed. Walter decided to sit halfway on the pillow and halfway on Andy’s shoulder…and read along. Soon, he had his own pillow, placed between ours.

Let me be clear. Walter had problems. Lots of them. His eye socket was weepy after the operation (and he ended up needing a second operation by our own vet).  He continued to spin in circles when anxious (knocking his head on furniture in the process). He had balance problems when walking. All cat food made him poop fire so he howled throughout the night. We learned within a few minutes that he was also deaf and that his “good” eye didn’t see all that clearly. He couldn’t have been more lovable, at least to us.

We named him the Wonder Cat for a couple of reasons. During his second eye operation, his blood pressure dropped because of the anesthesia and we almost lost him. Our vet said he was a miracle. Soon after that, Walter escaped in the middle of the night through a door that a realtor had left ajar. When we realized he was missing, we were bereft. As we put up signs on mailboxes along our county road, a woman pulled up beside us and said, “I think I have your cat. He’s loud.”

Walter had walked almost a half mile that night and ended up at the woman’s door. She noticed the stitches from the operation and knew he belonged to someone. You have to understand…he was almost blind, completely deaf, couldn’t walk in a straight line, and YET, he walked down a long gravel driveway, across the county road, through a field and then onto the woman’s dirt road, which he followed to her front door. A miracle; a true wonder.

In May 2015, we sold our house and moved into a 350-square-foot apartment above our little “barn” while our new house was being built. We ended up staying there nine months. Walter thrived. He stopped spinning. We found a brand of food (we called it Turkey Duck Duck) that helped his irritable bowel. He felt safe in the confined quarters.

He also took to the new house right away. Walter’s problems never went away totally, but he was a happy, sweet boy and he made us laugh and smile every day.

• Walter loved our long, concrete driveway. He’d saunter down it, right at Andy’s heels. Then they’d lie down together to soak up its warmth. Those two had quite a bond.
• He could run very fast like a real cat, in a straight line. If he tried to walk normal speed, though, his paws would cross and he’d stumble and walk like John Wayne.
• He hated when his feet touched the thyme that grew between the stones of the front sidewalk. He hated the wind. He loved the sun.
• When lizards began showing up on our front porch, Walter would howl to go outside several times a day. He’d stalk them. (He could see shadows and contrast with his “good” eye). When they’d scurry beneath the sill of the doorway, he’d let out a mournful yowl. Miraculously, he managed to catch a few during his life. He’d pounce on them and start chewing. Andy always freed them from Walter’s jaws of death.
• The dark patches of fur on his back resembled angel wings.
• He loved for us to make tunnels under the quilt (by standing pillows on their long edge). He’d cuddle up at the very back and sleep soundly.
• For the entire time he was with us, we kept the hall lights on for him because I worried that he couldn’t find his food and litter box at night. (Andy would always remind me that he was a cat with night vision.)
• He was the skinniest cat with the longest legs we’d ever seen. When he lay flat, we called him Slip of Paper. When he stumbled around, we called him an Imperial Walker from Star Wars.
• Walter had too many nicknames to list. A few: Bug, Little Man, Big Man, Big W, Walty, Wallutter, Mr. Chin, Mr. Patience. You get the picture.
• Walter didn’t really like being held, and never snuggled per se. But he’d want you to lie very close and pet or brush him. Near the end of his life, he’d stand at our bedroom door IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT and let out one long yowl, a signal for Andy to comfort him for a few minutes.
• He liked to bite noses and ears if you got within striking distance.
• During cold months, he’d lay on a blanket in front of the fireplace and bask in the heat. He loved it. Some nights, when he cried and couldn’t sleep, we’d turn on the fireplace and he’d settle down right away. We called it the babysitter.
• Sometimes when he was really anxious, we’d put him in my car (which he loved) and he’d relax immediately.
• Walter developed mouth pain we couldn’t attribute to bad teeth. The vet said it might be nerve pain caused by his first operation. We began whizzing his expensive wet food in the food processor with canned pumpkin and extra water. Then we’d strain it through a sieve to remove any bits that made it hard for him to lick. We are not ashamed to admit we were whipped and our food processor is now called The Whizzer.
• He lost an incisor to infection the summer of 2015. His lower tooth lifted his lip into a scowl, which combined with his missing eye, made him look very pirate-like. Later, he lost that lower tooth and his “smile” returned to normal.
• Walter loved his cat carrier and sometimes would lay in it just because.
• We called the wonderful, caring vets and techs at Alpine Animal Hospital his girlfriends because they understood his special problems and were so sweet and gentle with him. No amount of homemade cookies could repay their kindness, but I will try.

We always said Walter wasn’t really a cat. He didn’t do the things normal cats do because of his special problems. But he was a tiny bundle of pure love wrapped in gorgeous creamy white and taupe fur. (I told you at the beginning that he was a handsome fella.) For almost five years, Andy and I continued to yell to the other, “Come quick and look at Walter. He’s sooooo sweet.”

When we describe all of Walter’s problems, most people say he was the luckiest cat alive to have us as parents. Maybe. But Andy and I were far luckier. That sweet, tender goofball united us in our adoration. We laughed and smiled so much because of him.

Walter will live on in our memories for the rest of our days. And with time, this devastating heartache will morph into something else that will allow us to laugh and smile about our Sweet Boy once again.