This Week: Remembering Snickers, My South Dakota Cat

My cat, Snickers, was put to sleep today. He had been sick for over a month. His illness was liver cancer. His liver just couldn’t metabolize food anymore and his body began metabolizing his own fat and muscles, only weighing 4.5 lbs. at the end. His weight was what convinced me it was time to let him go. He had been on a series of drugs to fight the tumor and supplements to help his liver, but they weren’t enough. Dehydration was a worse enemy. Although he drank water constantly, his body just couldn’t absorb it well enough to keep him going. Dehydration made him weak, unable to stand. Every other week, we gave him subcutaneous fluid shots and they would help for a few days. We knew the condition was terminal, but we also thought we’d get three more months with the drugs and care. Sadly, it was not to be.

I first saw Snickers in Hot Springs, South Dakota, in June of 1993. My first husband and I were visiting his brother. Snickers was on the roof of a porch across the street from my then brother-in-law’s fiancé’s house. There were actually three cats on that roof, all exactly alike. It was the ex-brother-in-law who first suggested we take one home. At dinner the next night, the fiancé said she talked to her neighbor and the cats were available for adoption. However, it wasn’t until the morning we left that I asked if we could bring one home. On the way out of town, we stopped at the house and knocked on the door. A sixteen-year-old boy answered. Apparently the fiancé had mentioned to the neighbor that we were interested so the boy wasn’t surprised to see us. I don’t remember the kid’s name, but my ex-husband, a high school basketball coach, asked him his age and if he played ball. The kid took us to the detached half barn/half garage behind the house. That’s where the momma cat was set up in a large cardboard box with blankets and where the kittens were born. Momma looked nothing like her babies; she was gray with long hair. The kittens, all orange short-haired tabbies, hovered around their mother and our feet while we stood there. The boy told us the kittens were six months old and that there were six all together, but three others had already been given away. The three remaining cats were perfect copies of each other, all male and they checked us out while we checked them out. I picked one up and asked his name. The kid told us they called him “Peeve.” Then he said that this one was the runt of the litter. Although I didn’t think he looked like a runt, the kid’s comment solidified my decision to take him. We thanked the kid and then got back in the car with the cat on my lap. The cat seemed OK with this whole situation. We then stopped at a grocery store to get some cat food, a box of cat litter and a cardboard box to put him in. We also got a couple of Snickers bars to snack on during the eight hour trip back to Omaha and that was when I said we should name him Snickers. With his new name decided, we drove home while the kitten slept in a box in the back seat.

Snickers was a skinny kitten, but he didn’t stay that way. I actually had a vet tell me Snickers wasn’t fat, he was just “big boned.” Snicky was tall with very long legs, but he also weighed 15 lbs at his heaviest, five pounds too much really. He would be on a diet for the next few years, but never seemed to shed those extra pounds while living in Nebraska.

When I divorced, Snickers came with me. The place I was living in at the time didn’t allow pets so I had to move to keep him. It took quite a dent in my meager salary to do so. The strange thing about divorce is people you have known for years, people you call friends, suddenly stop calling you. It was during this time that I sat on the floor of my apartment, since I didn’t have a couch, and Snicky would curl up in my lap. I was too poor for cable so we would watch network shows on Saturday night (Remember the Pretender and the Profiler? That was a typical Saturday night for us.). Of course, with time, things eventually got better. I got a couch; it was a nice one too, with room for both Snicky and I to take naps together. Even after I found a new set of friends to hang out with on weekends, Snicky was still a huge part of my life. He slept at my feet every night, his purr letting me know things were good and he told me when it was time to get up and feed him in the morning by biting my toes through the blankets.

In 1998, I uprooted Snicky for the second time in his life to move to Denver, Colorado. He meowed all the way to North Platte before settling down. Once we got here, he loved it. I have moved six times since arriving (three before and three after getting remarried) and Snicky took each one in stride. Well, that may not have been completely true since there was a bit of spitefulness when I moved in with my husband and introduced Snicky to his big black Lab, Jasmine. Jasmine, to her credit, figured out fairly quick to leave Snicky alone because Snicky made it clear he was the boss, even if Jasmine was bigger. He ate Jasmine’s food and slept in her giant bed, but Jasmine respected her elders and let Snicky do what he wanted.

Snicky had the best purr. I never realized how loud it was until we found our second cat, Morgan. While Morgan’s purr was so tiny, you could barely hear it, Snicky’s purr was the rumble of a diesel engine. It kept my husband awake at night. To me it was the sweetest sound because it told me that all was right with the world. As his illness progressed, Snicky’s purr grew less and less until he stopped altogether.

Snickers was also a cat of many nick-names: Snicky, which I’ve used here, Snickerdoodle, Snickercat, Booger, Snicky-snoo, and since I thought he looked a lot like Supermascot Rocky (NBA, Denver Nuggets), I called him Rocky or Little Puma.

Snicky’s last vet appointment was Saturday, September 5, at 10:30 a.m. He spent his last night lying in the crook of my arm. Around 9 a.m. that morning, I wrapped him in a towel and took him outside on our back deck to sit in the sun. They say that owners and their pets have a lot in common and that was true of Snicky and I. We both liked to sun bathe. We had two sunroof windows in our family room and Snicky would curl up on the floor below them. As the sun moved across the sky, Snicky would move across the room to stay in that rectangle of light. On this morning, both of us basked the sunlight of a beautiful fall day in Colorado. We watched birds and insects buzz past and the occasional dog walker on the trail below. It was most precious hour of my life.

I was only two years out of college when I got Snicky. My entire adult life has revolved around him and now there is this huge void. I just hope that in the time we spent together, he understood how much he meant to me. I know Snicky lived a long life and that he was well cared for. I know that Jasmine and Morgan are here and still need my love and attention, but that doesn’t make it hurt less. Don’t doubt for a second that Snicky couldn’t be ornery, running out the back door when I was already late for work, jumping on the kitchen counter, knocking over glasses of milk, and peeing in my husband’s suitcase. At the end of the day, Snicky would sit in our laps and purr while we watched TV and sometimes when he slept he would put his paw over his head to hide his face. I will miss my Little Puma.

I would like to take this time to ask anyone reading this that you take a second or two to think about the animals in your life and to give a gift in your pet’s name or Snickers’ name to your local animal shelter to help those creatures that need it the most, or to make an even bigger commitment and bring one of those little creatures home to share your life. You will not regret it. For those of you in the Denver area, I ask that you support the Table Mountain Animal Center with your money, your time or your home because they are overwhelmed right now with dogs and cats that need help. Thank you.


Table Mountain Animal Center