When we first took him to the vet, we learned Gimli (whom I named because he looked like a dwarf at the time) was FIV-positive, the feline version of HIV. Gimli had a torn ear, so he must have got into a fight previously and contracted the virus. We were told he only had one year to live and could be contagious to our other three cats, and was just going to get more frail and sick, so the best option was to put him to sleep now. We told the vet they were nuts. You don't kill your child if they get sick and we vowed to keep him outta fights with our other guys.
Well, for 10 years, Gimli beat the odds. He ballooned to 20lbs! He never got in a fight with anyone, and he quickly became everyone who met him's favorite cat. Over time, he ever found his purr.
Gimli was a Steel-Cat. He loved to watch the Pittsburgh Steelers play every Sunday. He'd sit on my left side in my recliner, starting sometime around the middle of the first quarter and staying the entire game, never flinching through my many rants, cries, and shouts of joy for my Stillers. For over three years, he proudly wore a tag proclaiming himself "The Terrible Cat" after the Steelers signature Terrible (rally) Towel. He even had a favorite player, #Jamesfarrior. When they'd say James' name on the TV, Gim would turn and look for him every time. It's a shame James never met his number one furriest fan.
Gimli was also my neck cat. He'd curl up on my right shoulder and look at the various comic books I'd read every night before bed. He particularly seemed interested in the black and white comics I would read, getting up close to every page I'd turn inspecting them, probably for quality control purposes. He even would be on this very desk that I'm typing from now, trying to vie for the many pets he'd seek to add to his "all the pets" collection and even trying to type out his own messages.
To this day, I wonder what "PL.>>>>>>>>>>>>>888888njjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj" means.
Over the past year, Gimli's weight went into the mid-teens. We attributed it to age. But in the past couple of weeks, he shrunk even more. He began to have trouble with his bowels and lost all control. A bunch of trips to the vet (his new one, not the one wanting to cheat Gim outta 10 years of pets, Pittsburgh, and panels of comic art) suggested it was his FIV finally getting the best of him. The diagnosis was lymphoma, which normally strikes FIV-positive cats. Sadly, the only treatment, steroids, is the worst thing for FIV cats, as it allows other viruses and diseases easy access to grow and fester.
So my wife and I prepared our good-byes. We watched one final Steelers game with Gimli but he was so tired and kept falling asleep. Plus, after half-time, he must of gotten uncomfortable and jumped off the chair and kept trying to find a spot to rest.
Well, yesterday, Gimli was finally able to get comfortable. At 2:45pm, Gimli Bear Dillard collected all of the pets needed for his collection and won the game. He went off to be with four sibling cats and five human siblings (lost through miscarriage) in Heaven. I have the Terrible Cat tag as a key chain now. But, our house, which had never been without Gimmi, feels odd and empty. I keep seeing him on top of the backs of chairs or walking by a door frame. I look out the window at the spot where he's buried- fitting as it's near the spot where we first met him. I don't feel like watching the Steelers right now or reading a comic book for that matter. I'm sure in time I will. But right now is time for honoring the best damn Steel-Cat ever.
It may be oddly calm here at Casa Dillard, but on the other side, it's pandemonium. I imagine that our five little angels (Luke, Chewbacca, Arwen, Theo, and Jazzmin) are petting the bejesus outta him, and he's truly in Heaven right now. A Terrible Cat, indeed.
(Gimli, with one of his new tenants, one week after moving day)
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