Stewie - A Retrospective of The Best Cat

Forward: This week I lost the best cat, and I've been having a really difficult time with the grieving process. I recently wrote a piece, "The Best Cat", describing the end of Stewie's life as a tribute. I worry that this overwhelming grief can be felt by my baby. I worry that this life event might somehow lead to a greater chance of a postpartum mood disorder. I have less than two months to go before I bring a new life into the world and become a mother for the first time, and I want to be happy about it. 

I've been spending the last few days so focused on the end of Stewie's life and being overwhelmed by grief, I think I really need to start trying to focus on all the joy he has brought me these past 13 years. 

So here I will put together the story of my life with Stewie. Here I will remember back to the beginning and middle of the life of Stewie (a work in progress):

When I first moved to Chicago over 13 years ago, I knew that I would be adopting a cat at some point. It took me a few months to figure out the whole "being an adult and living away from home" thing (spoiler: I didn't have the handle on it like I thought I did, and probably wouldn't for several years), but I quickly realized that one of the benefits of living in my own apartment with my own rules was that I could have a "pet" in the house - "Pet" is a term I would later decide to start calling "Companion". I started calling pets companions because the word "pet" seems to indicate some type of ownership versus the partnership that having an animal in your home really entails. They love you, they trust you; and you love and trust them. You don't own them. If anything, your cat owns you.

Growing up, I never had to think about adopting a companion because we lived in the rural outskirts of a small town and strays just seemed to find us. My mom, not being an animal person, somehow always managed to rid us of our adopted cats and dogs, however; either by forcing them to be outdoors (which means that they would eventually stray into the nearby woods and never return), or by forcing us to give them away in some capacity claiming that we weren't doing enough to take care of them. Now I know that when I adopt a companion, I go to a shelter of some sort. My second cat, Scout, was adopted from the local Humane Society. But Scout is no Stewie, so I digress.

So when it came time for me to consider adopting a cat, I started by looking at my company's want ads (sort of an internal company Craiglist if you will). I saw that someone's cat had recently had a litter of kittens and they were giving them away for free. Again, I know now that I would not go this route, but at the time when I was a little naive to the world, it made perfect sense.

I drove up to the Northern Chicago Burbs with a friend from work, stopping by the store to pick up a cat carrier and litter box. I knew I was going to meet a litter of kittens, and without even thinking about any other possibility, I knew that I would be bringing home a kitten that evening.

When I was greeted and brought into my co-worker's home, they immediately brought us to their litter of kittens and the momma kitty. They explained that they occasionally let their cat outside, and that they believed the father was a local "Tom Cat" that roamed their neighborhood - a friendly guy, that didn't appear to have an owner. Their cat, momma kitty, was your typical medium-haired tuxedo cat. She was lovely, although exhausted looking. She had a litter of mostly black cats, and one female tuxedo cat. As the kittens were set down, some laid there relaxed, and a couple of them scattered. For some reason, I picked up this tiny black ball of fluff that had just tried to book it away from me. As I held him, he defiantly meowed, and without hesitation, I said that I would like to bring him home. That meow was the first of many to come.

I put my precious and adorably new kitty into the new carrier I had just bought, and headed home (about a 40 mile trek to where I lived in the Southern inner ring burbs). As I drove, the kitten began to meow. His meows became louder; more and more desperate. I began to worry he wasn't feel well. I reached into the carrier to pet him, but his desperate meows continued. I tried to coo and soothe him with my voice to no avail. Finally, I picked him up out of the carrier, and set him on my lap. He immediately calmed down, settled into my lap, and began to purr (which I was not expecting). I think that was the first time Stewie and I bonded. From that moment forward, he and I belonged to one another, and he never stopped preferring me over everyone else.

(Stewie was always a very vocal cat from the time he was a little kitten, throughout his adult life. It used to drive me nuts, but now I miss the sound desperately.)

When I brought him home, my boyfriend at the time, John, was excited; however, we could not agree on a name. Stewie spent the first several months of his life being referred to as "Kitty".

The thing about kittens, particularly when you're living in a small one-bedroom Chicago apartment, is that they have more energy than you can ever imagine. When I first brought him home, he was so tiny, I could hold him in one open hand, which means he could fit into tiny places we couldn't reach. Stewie would dart around the apartment, going under our old metal radiators, emerging triumphantly later, completely covered in grime. I was not prepared for this level of energy. He would get into everything, and climb up furniture, only to jump off like he was practicing his ninja/ gymnastics skills. Everything in the apartment was his toy, and never having this experience with kittens, I hadn't had the foresight to buy toys (something I quickly remedied).

I was the first person in the apartment to wake up each morning (usually before the sun was up), so I had the habit of leaving the lights off as I made my way to the bathroom on the other side of the apartment so as not to disturb anyone. Stewie, being all black and therefore unseen in the dark, would often dart under my feet, causing me to trip. I was terrified I would accidentally step on him. I started cracking jokes that he was trying to murder me. And this is how Stewie got his name. The first season or two of the TV series "Family Guy" was one of my favorite shows at the time, and I started joking about how our "Kitty" reminded me of the character on the show. John finally agreed to this name since he also enjoyed the show as well. Secretly, I was also using that as an excuse to give Stewie a family name; Stewart (after my granddaddy Stewart who had passed away when I was 13).

"Stewie and Curtis" - We had a friend stay with us for a time in our apartment, Curtis. Curtis thought Stewie was hilarious, but he also had a bad habit of teasing Stewie. One day, Curtis was holding Stewie on Stewie's back, messing with Stewie's stomach, with his face WAY too close to Stewie's body. Stewie grabbed either side of Curtis's face with his front paws, and bit Curtis... on the eyeball. Curtis shrieked - "Your cat bit me on the fucking eye!" - his eye was totally fine by the way. From that point on, anytime the subject of Stewie came up in front of Curtis, he would always mention how Stewie bit him on the eye once. I always found this to be hilarious.

It took Stewie several attempts, and a couple of weeks, but Stewie quickly learned how to semi-jump, semi-climb, into our bed. And from that moment forward, I went to sleep with a kitty that would kneed and suckle the bed every night. John tried to break Stewie of the habit of suckling the bed, but Stewie always persisted, and I'm glad because that became Stewie's way of indicating to me that he wanted to be cuddled and petted in bed. Eventually, I even got Stewie to let me spoon him while he was kneading and suckling the bed; which became Stewie's favorite way to cuddle in the bed. The bed in general was always Stewie's favorite place to cuddle.

As Stewie got older and bigger, his energy continued. But his attachment to me (and mine to him) was growing. Our second floor apartment was on the back corner of the building, and faced the alleyway where I would park my car. Everyday when I came home, I would see Stewie up in the window facing the parking lot, and he would meow his head off through the window. As I would round the building, and come into the foyer, heading up the stairs; Stewie would continue to meow until I made my way into the apartment. It felt like I was being greeted everyday. Stewie greeted me most days this way for his entire life.

As with most kittens in their first couple of years, there was a bit of training with Stewie. There wasn't anything major, but I had to break Stewie from the habit of biting me or clawing me too hard when he would play. Stewie also did not like being picked up; however, I kept picking him up and snuggling him close anyways. I think it took a few years for him to finally give up and accept that it was okay for me at least to pick him up and give him a snuggle on occasion. He would even give me a few brief purrs from time to time, as long as I gave him chin scratches; which was his favorite. I think he would only accept me picking him up because I had a very specific way of holding him.

This is not Stewie as a kitten because unfortunately, I just don't have pictures of him during this time (this is before the cell phone era).

At some point when trying to "train" Stewie not to be such a mischievous kitty, I adopted what I call my "sweet voice" for him. I would call his name using this voice, and coo and say things like "Mr Stew, I love you, I do. I love you Mr Stew". I said that very phrase to him until the end. But when Stewie was doing something I didn't approve of, I would take a lower or sharper tone depending "STEW!" or "CAT!" I would exclaim as he chewed wires or for the brief period of time he tried to get on counters. I was always impressed how quickly he learned that it was not acceptable for him to be on the counters; however, this was something he had to re-learn every time I moved. It was as though he had to re-test all the boundaries we had set every time he was in a new space. Stewie also eventually learned to come to me when I called him with my sweet voice "Stewwwww. Come her Stewie. Mr Stew, come here." He would meow back and usually come for a snuggle.

When Stewie was about six months old we realized we may have waited too long to get him neutered. We caught him using the bathroom in the bathtub, which we took as a sign that we needed to get this taken care of because he could start spraying. It turns out, Stewie decided at some point that if his litter box wasn't as clean as he'd prefer, he would go to the bathroom in the bathtub because that would get cleaned immediately (he never gave up this habit). I was traveling that weekend, so John had taken him in to finally get Stewie neutered to get this done as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the vet at the time pressured John into also getting Stewie's front claws removed. When I got home at the end of the weekend, we went and picked up Stewie the next day. It was horrible. Stewie's had such a hard time walking on his paws. He lost a lot of the strength in his paws, and couldn't hang from things the way he used to. After learning what declawing a cat actually entails, and seeing Stewie go through the trauma of having the procedure done, John and I agreed that neither of us would ever do that to a cat again. Even after he healed, Stewie would remain sensitive about anyone or anything touching his front paws.

Anytime both John and I visited Southern IL to see our families, we always brought Stewie with us. At the time, before we really considered safety, Stewie would meow in his carrier so much, that I would let him out and he would spend most of the four - five hour road trip comfortably and happy in my lap. Although as Stewie got older, he grew to hate the car more and more - probably because the last several years, I wouldn't let him out of his carrier to cuddle with me. I wish I could have, but this safety became more important to me (or maybe that's not a great way of phrasing it, I became more aware how unsafe it was to let him out of his carrier in the car).

When John and I broke up a couple of years later, he packed his car with everything that we decided was his that could fit, and he immediately returned to his mom's house in Southern IL. His mom, who I adore, offered to take Stewie, but I couldn't let Stewie go. While I'm certain she would have provided him a loving home (she had watched him often when we would come to visit), I couldn't part with Stewie. Even then, after a little over two years, I knew that I would always want Stewie in my life. What was sad is that for the first couple of weeks after John left, Stewie would roam the house meowing, looking for John. At the time, John was the main source of play time, and Stewie did love him dearly as well.

Living alone for another month, and then with roommates for  several months after that; I was incredibly lonely, but Stewie became less hyper and much more affectionate during that time. Stewie became my constant companion. I didn't have a lot of friends in the area, so I would spend most nights sitting around either watching TV, reading, or on my laptop; usually in my bedroom. Stewie would always lay beside me or on me, which I definitely needed. Even when I became less lonely, it was Stewie's preference to be on or near me when I was home, and it also became mine.

"Stewie vs. Mr Finch" - When I first moved in with my roommates in Chicago for that brief period, the roommate who had three cats, also had two birds. One weekend, she was traveling, I woke up early and felt something gross and slimy in my bed. I thought Stewie may have had an extra large hair-ball, and I jumped up and turned on the light. Laying in my bed was a dead little bird. Stewie was laying o my bed next to me, looking super proud, and then looked confused at my horror ("What, aren't you going to accept my gracious gift?"). At first I thought somehow a bird had gotten inside, but then I remembered my roommate had two birds. I ran into her room, and sure enough, the top cage was empty. It wasn't knocked over, but it was clear the bird wasn't there. The only thing I could think of us that Stewie lifted the bird's little cage door (it slid upwards), and managed to either reach in, or the bird got out at that point and Stewie got to him that way. Despite having no claws, any tiny furry creature that made their way into my apartments ongoing would die by Stewie's hand. I felt so awful. When my roommate returned, I told her what had happened through tears. She barely seemed phase and said she felt more badly that I felt so awful than for the loss of her aging finch. Apparently the finch had lived longer than his life expectancy anyways.

Stewie and my roommates cats did not get along. Stewie was so excited for new kitty friends and just wanted to sniff them initially, but two of them would hiss and freak out, and having their front claws, they would scratch his poor little face up. This is when Stewie learned to bite. We eventually had to keep them separated in different parts of the apartment because Stewie would chase them down, biting at their hind quarters while they hissed and flipped out. Fortunately, the back half of the apartment, where my bedroom and the kitchen were located, had a door to separate the cats from the front half, where my roommates bedroom was. I was a little afraid of what it would look like to have Stewie living with other cats, but this was truly his only bad experience.

As I was turning 26, and Stewie was turning 3, I made the decision to move to Minneapolis. I had friends in the area, and I found a good job relatively quickly. Unfortunately, I had to couch surf initially and I was unable to keep Stewie with me during that time; so my sister Timpani took Stewie with her to Southern IL. I can't remember exactly how long it took for me to be able to go back to Southern IL and pick up Stewie, but I do remember missing him terribly for those few months.

"Stewie's Adventure" - when Timpani first brought Stewie back to Southern IL with her, after using my mom's truck to help me move from Chicago to Minneapolis over the weekend, Timpani stopped by mom's house to drop off the truck. Somehow in transit, the door to Stewie's carrier had become unlatched, and being so accustomed to having free roam in car's before, he immediately jumped out of the carrier when Timpani opened the truck passenger side door. Well known fact about Stewie - he HATES being outside, and always has. Panicked, Stewie bolted, leaving Timpani in a state of shock before she realized he had completely disappeared from her vision. She thought she saw him in a neighbor's yard, and immediately ran after the cat she thought was him, but this other neighborhood cat quickly escaped her. She spent hours trying to find Stewie in my mom's rural neighborhood to no avail. She decided she would have to resume the search in the morning. The next day, my mom got in her car and headed to work, but before she got very far, she started hearing a horrible meowing sound coming from her engine. She stopped the car, called my step-dad, and he had to bring his reaching tool to pull a very frightened Stewie from her car engine. Fortunately, Stewie wasn't hurt, and was happy to be brought indoors to my mom's house. Timpani later came and got him and brought him home with her. She called me to let me know that she had both lost and found Stewie.

Stewie seemed to do alright at Timpani's house, and was very affectionate with her during his time away from me; however, once Stewie returned to me, anytime Timpani came up to Minneapolis to visit me, Stewie became very mean towards Timpani. This was his first grudge. They say cats do not have a long term memory, but Stewie has hated Timpani from that time on. Anytime she came to visit, he would hiss and growl at her (which he didn't do to anyone - he was cold to a lot of people, but he only actively hated her). Stewie did pick up another grudge later in life, but that is another story.

Once again, the moment Stewie was with me, we were immediately bonded and I spent most of my time at home cuddling or playing with my little buddy. My friend Jill would spend a lot of time at my house with us - she had always been a dog person before, but Stewie and she quickly warmed up to each other. Jill would watch Stewie when I traveled, and that was the beginning of the end for Jill because she is now 100% a cat person.

Living completely alone for an extended period for the first time was very difficult. I ended up letting friends from out of town stay with me here and there for periods of time because it made things a bit easier. But overall, what made things better was having Stewie with me at all times. Drama ensued, as it does for single people dating in the city, but after each heartbreak, and each awful life event, Stewie was always there with purrs, cuddles, meows, and companionship. No matter what was going on in my life, I always knew I had Stewie to come home to - to take care of.

Jill and I moved in together with a third roommate the 2nd year I lived in Minneapolis, and by the third year, we moved into our own apartment. She quickly adopted her own kitty, Saxon, from the Humane Society.

I was a little afraid when we brought Saxon home to our new apartment because when I lived in Chicago with roommates, Stewie and my roommates cats did not get along; however, Stewie and Saxon quickly became best friends. Saxon was an adorable and very relaxed kitten. He was not the hyperactive kitten that Stewie had been. They played, they cuddled, and Stewie quickly taught Saxon all of his tricks. They became partners in crime, in a constant quest to get into their food any way possible, and boy did they ever.

"Partners in Crime" - At first I had the food bag for Stewie and Saxon on the counter, but Stewie quickly learned he could eat through the bag. Then I put the food into a sliding door glass cabinet, but Stewie and Saxon figured out that together they could slide the door open and get at the food that way (keep in mind, this was a super old apartment, and those cabinets did not slide open easily). So then I bought a plastic container so that even if they got the cabinet open, they still couldn't chew through the bag. We would often come home to find one or both cats inside the cabinet trying to get into the food, and we would have to dig them out of the space. One day, Jill and I came home to food scattered everywhere, and Stewie had managed to get the lid to the food container stuck ON HIS HEAD! We laughed histarically. I mean, how could we be mad when Stewie had gone through so much trouble, only to get the lid stuck on his head?

October 2009

Saxon and Stewie used to take turns cuddling with me every morning in my bed in that apartment. Stewie would get his usual cuddles throughout the night (taking advantage of my frequent wakings), and a bit in the morning, and then when he would jump down, I would inevitably hear a tiny Saxon meow at my bedroom door, and I would invite him to come cuddle.

September 2009

When I moved out of that apartment and in with my boyfriend at the time, it was clear Stewie missed his little friend. I briefly considered adopting another kitty, but decided against it even after visiting the Humana Society. The next two years were difficult. I was not in a good relationship with the boyfriend I was with at the time, and Stewie seemed more vocal than ever; meowing throughout the night loudly, and waking me up often. I think somehow, Stewie knew that I wasn't happy, and he wasn't happy either. One thing that did seem to help his meowing a little bit is that I bought an auto-feeder. Stewie began to wait for the sound of the auto-feeder turning, and run to that for food instead of meowing all night for food. Stewie remained more vocal than ever, but at least he let me sleep more.

October 2011

After two years (and living in two places together), I finally gained the strength to move on from that relationship, and I moved into a tiny (they called it a one-bedroom, but it was really more of a studio) apartment. Stewie remained a very vocal cat, but he relaxed significantly when we moved to our new space. It's like we were both able to take one giant sigh of relief, and make the space our own.

Stewie and I weren't alone in the tiny apartment for very long when a friend in need (and her kitty and rabbit) started to stay with us. My friend's kitty, Sushi, was a sweet kitty to us, but she did not like Stewie; however, Stewie appeared to be in love with her. He was always trying to lay near her, and give her affection. She occasionally tolerated him laying near her, but that was about it. It was pretty adorable all in all.

After living in the tiny apartment for five months in 2012, I met the love of my life, Zach. Of course, I didn't know at the time that he was the love of my life, but Zach and I's relationship moved quickly. One thing that impressed me about Zach early on is that Stewie seemed to warm up to him immediately, which was out of character for Stewie. Early int our relationship, Zach was laying on my bed (keep in mind the bed was one of the few places to sit), and Stewie came up and laid on his back. I made sure to let Zach know how impressive it was that Stewie would be willing to do that. It might have helped that upon getting serious, Zach would offer to clean Stewie's litter box, and Stewie sure loved having a fresh and clean litter box all of the time. Zach even learned how to pick Stewie up in the way that Stewie was okay with.

This is a pic of Stewie on Zach's back another time, but this is what it looked like the first time:



By the end of my apartment lease, Zach and I were in love and decided to move in together. We found a pretty sizable two bedroom apartment that accepted cats. Sushi stayed with us initially while my friend figured out her own living situation. I could tell that Stewie really appreciated having the additional space. As always when I moved, it took Stewie a while to adjust to his new "world", but he warmed up quickly. Soon, Stewie was back to nightly and morning bed cuddles, only now instead of only being on my lap each night, he would take turns laying on Zach's tap too, or lay on the couch between us. He also learned that if he laid between us on the bed, he would get pets from both Zach and I, which Stew grew to love as well. Zach was so gentile and kind with Stewie; plus, Zach was much more free with the treats.

After a little over two years of living in the apartment (and getting married during that time), Zach and I moved into a quaint three bedroom house. Once again, the transition was difficult for Stewie, but he again quickly acclimated to the space. Stewie would sometimes meow in a different room as if confused, but then I would use my 'sweet' voice to call him to me where ever I was. He would run quickly, and come to me for cuddles.

After a time in our new house, Zach and I decided that we had more love to give, and wanted to adopt another cat. We went to the Humane Society, and found Scout, a beautiful and very affectionate long-haired cat. I'll save the details of Scout's specific story for another time.

"Stewie, Meet Scout" - As you do when introducing a new cat to your home when you have a now aging semi-cantankerous cat, you keep them separated initially. We kept Scout in the spare bedroom, allowing he and Stewie to sniff each other out for a few days. Stewie initially hissed a lot (I mean, I can't blame him, change is scary). When we first allowed them to have some face-to-face time (still between two separate rooms, but with the door cracked), Scout reached out with his paw and bopped Stewie on the head. Then Scout quickly ran away. Stewie looked up at us and seemed to express "WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THAT?!" It was an adorable and hilarious first meeting.

Stewie didn't adopt Scout the way he did Saxon, nor did he fall in love with him the way he did Sushi, but Stewie did tolerate Scout, and even began to play (well, sort of play, more like fight in a not too threatening way) with Scout. I don't know if they ever became best buds, but they were buddies nonetheless, which is still a considered a good case scenario when introducing two adult cats. Despite all of this, I still found them often sleeping next to one another in the same spaces (they agreed to share the bed); and even though it usually led to play, they would groom and show affection for another another.

At this very moment, I believe Scout is missing his friend, and doesn't fully understand the gravity of what has occurred in the past week.

For now, I think that this is where I will end my retrospective. We have lived in this house happy for the past two and a half years. Stewie was happy here. Again, this entry is not about the end, but a celebration of the beginning and the middle, and I do not want to use this space as a place to grieve, but to celebrate Stewie's life and time with me. I will continue to add more pictures and stories to this post until I have told everything that I can remember about The Best Cat - Stewie. Sifting through over a thousand pictures may prove difficult, but I hope to keep at least a few pictures documented here.