Here's To Henry

This morning around 9:30, I got a knock on my door from our across the street neighbors. They asked if we had a cat, and, very hesitantly (I thought she was going to complain about his running through their lawn or something), told her that we did. She asked if he was a very large cat, and I instinctively told her no. (Henry is huge, but I've known him since he was born, so I forget sometimes). After I remembered that Henry is, in fact, pretty fat, I told her yes.

She told me that she found him on the side of the road, very badly hurt after apparently being hit by a car. I started to rush out the door and she stopped me; she'd already brought him to the vet, and he told her there wasn't much hope. At this I realized I was crying, which made her cry. But praise the Lord for the sort of kindness it takes to rush a stranger's cat to the vet.

I won't detail the gory mess I found in the crate they said Henry was in; this was not my Henry. It couldn't be. But it was. I started crying again (dang it), and they helped me get him ready to drive over to the VT animal hospital, where they could offer him better care.

I stayed there with him as long as I could, and I held my poor furry baby's paw the whole way over there. He was in so much pain. The vet said he was in shock.

I don't really know why I'm writing this. I guess just because I'm not sure if he's got a realistic chance of making it, and when Matt and I went to visit him tonight we weren't allowed to touch him, so this is the best way I know how to say goodbye.

I watched Henry get born. In March of 2011 my roommates and I took in the meanest stray cat you'd ever seen, only to find out that she was pregnant. (She was also apparently not a stray, as we found out several months later.) We named her Edgar.

Henry was the third of four kittens. He was the only black and white one, and by the morning you could tell he was going to have the cutest little stripes ever. I knew this was the cat I wanted, and I knew I wanted to name him Henry.

Henry has always hated being held. He is not a cuddler. Even still, he follows you into any room you go into, happy to sit next to you, but rarely on you. He put up with the occasional snuggling I would force on him like a champ.

Henry was a ninja. You have not seen acrobatics until you've seen this cat in action. He could jump about six feet into the air without a running start. He climbed to the top of our screen doors, and would cling to them for dear life even when we opened them. His favorite things to play with (besides mine and Matt's toes!) were our corn hole boards.

Henry is terrified of balloons. Matt got me a big silver balloon for my birthday last year, and it took us three days to realize the reason Henry would not leave our bedroom was because he was afraid of the balloon. He was also really afraid of the life size cut out of "The Rock" I gave Matt for his 26th birthday. (Henry probably really hated our birthdays.)

Henry loved to slow blink at you, which is a sign of contentment for a cat. It was his way of saying "we're cool." I did that with him last night, and I'm really happy about that now.

On Saturday, I caught Henry eating mulch. He spit it out and looked up at me like he was embarrassed. It was awesome, and I wanted to share that but never did, because... well he's just a cat, and who really would have cared?

But Henry is my cat. He's been mine literally from the moment he was born. I've gone from holding him in the palm of my hand to hardly being able to pick him up because he's so heavy. All I want to do right now is give him a big hug and kiss and force the snuggles I know he secretly loves on him.

I can't do that, though, so this is what I'm doing instead. I love you, Henry!