
26 December 1993 - 4 September 2009
Grayson always howled when I returned from a trip. The longer the trip, the more he howled. “Moooooooooom, you leeeeeeeeeft meeeeeee,” he seemed to say. He prowled and howled in front of the door as soon as I put my keys in the lock. He couldn’t wait for me to sit down when he would butt my hands and my chin so that I would start making up for all the strokes he had missed while I was gone.
Grayson was my cat, so named because he was gray. He was my second pet, the first being a hamster named Maizie who lived a few months with me and my housemates on Chaucer. Grayson was born the day after Christmas 1993 in the closet of a house rented by friends Don & Alex. Ignoring conventional wisdom about handling kittens, Don & Alex brought them out for us to play with when we gathered there for Sunday dinners. Grayson picked me when the little fur ball tumbled over my legs to attack the drawstring on my hoodie. I took him home at 8 weeks old on Valentine’s Day 1994 along with another of the kittens, a black & tan Siamese-marked brother that I named PC. A year later, PC ended up going to a new home, but that’s another story.
Grayson was a co-dependent kitty, following me around the house, waiting for a lap to be available for snuggles, and sleeping curled up next to my stomach at night. He moved with me as I moved from church to church as Methodist pastors do, from Houston to Kountze to Kilgore to Mont Belvieu and back to Houston. On the occasions when I’ve lived with my mother in my adult life, he was a sign of her love for me. Mom doesn’t much care for pets, but she allowed him to move in, too, litter box and all.
He was diagnosed with chronic renal failure about a year ago. He had lost a lot of weight and was more lethargic than usual for an old cat. The vet suggested treating him for the weekend to see if he would bounce back. I said good-bye to him then, not sure if he would last until Monday. Grayson did indeed bounce back, but keeping him that way meant daily subcutaneous fluid treatments. If you’ve seen the episode of The Closer where Deputy Chief Brenda Lee brings her Kitty to work, takes out an IV bag of fluid on a hanger, and treats Kitty with the fluid and a shot – that’s what I’ve done for the last year. It’s actually quite common and only takes about 10 minutes, and I never needed to take the cat to work. It was worth it to me to have another year with him.
I thought a cat would be a good pet for me because they’re low maintenance. If you have to leave for a day or two, you can just leave out the food and the water, and they’ll be fine indoors. Grayson was fine on those occasions, but he definitely didn’t like being left. I was with him in the end, scratching his head as the vet gave him that final injection.
If, when I was gone, Grayson expected at any moment for me to jump up to sit with him on the sofa, to snuggle with him as he went to sleep, to rub my face against his as we worked on the laptop, then I now know how he felt. No wonder he howled.