Remembering Meathead (2010-2024)

I

A certain alchemy comes into play when discussing cats. Despite the consistency, there hasn’t been enough concern to write dates or patterns in hopes of better understanding. Most arrive in the form of a stray, waiting on my porch for the morning meal. For decades now, the reliability has put me into contact with dozens of odd characters. Some are brave enough to show their face while others slink up when nobody’s around. 

Do they belong to the neighbors, or are they part of the legacy breeds? Maybe the answer exists in some spiritual realm that humans can never comprehend.

I know so little of these cats providing me company for years. Even the ones who adopt me exist somewhere in the abstract. One day they simply exist: a few months into life and simply trying to survive. This has happened before and will likely continue until I move on. I have never seen the complete cycle.

That is, except for one…

II

My cat’s “official” name is Charlie. He was the dominant figure in a litter of three. Early on it became clear that he was shy and defensive, meaning he was likely to pick fights with his siblings Bob (the runt) and Itty Bitty Kitty. He had an inexpressive face and seemed constantly annoyed. It made it easy to distrust Charlie. While Itty Bitty Kitty would jump on furniture and treat the carpet as the danger zone, Charlie collected space.

His real name was bestowed by my mother in 2010 as a reference to a viral YouTube video. Whether joking or not, she would say “Charlie bit me!” Comparatively, Bob’s name was far less novelistic (and Itty Bitty Kitty’s nom de plume I mostly forgot because I haven’t seen her in over a decade). Charlie’s was born out of notoriety.

III

A few weeks before this story begins, my father was at work. He claimed to have found a stray cat in some nearby bushes and brought it home. Everybody else believed the cat to simply be “fat.” 

As for me, I had been around fat animals. My orange tabby Tiger was fat. I recognized how bulk was distributed on an animal’s body. This wasn’t simply a fat cat. At night I would sit next to her and try the usual befriending rituals. The back was fine to scratch. So was the top of the head. As I reached for the belly, it was a protectiveness that went beyond the typical annoyance. In the few moments of touching her stomach, I could tell she was pregnant.

She gave birth to three kittens in a small crevice downstairs. Due to circumstances and some misunderstandings, however, the situation would change drastically and quickly. Following issues regarding flea spray, the mother passed away and left the trio to fend for themselves. Credit should be given to my mother and sister for helping to nurse them to decent health. While Bob maybe had the hardest time adjusting, it inspired Charlie to be fiercely independent. Given that they were both white cats, the stereotypes regarding shyness were mostly true. However, I think Bob at least stood the best chance of being sociable.

IV

Bob

The timeline is fuzzy. To give the rest of their lives proper context would be farcical. For context, I will jump forward three years. Itty Bitty Kitty has disappeared and hasn’t likely stepped foot on the street since. Bob became somewhat of a donor cat to my father for a few years. During that time he tended to live under the house and only came out when outdoor food was heard. You knew he was coming because the pipes would rattle. 

Meanwhile, Charlie was the great anomaly of cats. Having acquired the nickname “Meathead” due to his stubbornness, he had moved out. This wasn’t like Itty Bitty Kitty where the reasons were ambiguous and we never heard from him again. If anything, Meathead was friendly when you saw him on the sidewalk. However, his fear of stepping inside the house was due to the presence of a feline’s mortal enemy: the canine.

Without getting too much into Jack & Eddie’s story, I will say this much. They were dogs my mother got from the desert. They were big, unruly, and liked to travel. Our neighbors had to put a few extra rows of bricks up to keep them from jumping in their yard. They were notorious for jumping onto the roof and over the fence. They rarely left the premises, but they still were a short-lived phenomenon because of how out of control they were.

It made sense why Meathead would hate them. The dogs, to everyone’s chagrin, expressed carte blanche and left him to adopt a house at the end of the block. Predictably, this was because the owner provided food and shelter for strays. Meathead was so petrified of stepping in the house that the one time I carried him from the other side of the block he decided to run under the heater for a few hours. 

V

I was 21 in 2010. While most of my friends were approaching the end of their days at Cypress College and achieving their Associate’s, I was still failing math and science. There wasn’t any guarantee that I’d get through a whole semester without dropping out. I was experiencing burnout at work that caused me to grow emotionally distant from a lot of friends. While I had discovered a group that gave my life meaning by discussing media on a podcast, it’s safe to say that I wasn’t thinking more than two moves ahead. Little about my life could be argued as being “career minded.” My achievements were measured less in monetary and more whatever ramblings I could publish online. 

I was a journalism major. By the time I restarted school in 2016, I had transitioned to creative writing. I wasn’t a good student until my Mid-20s if just because of how long it took to get in the right head space. It came at the expense of certain milestones happening alongside my peers, but I would develop a work ethic that landed me a Bachelor’s and 3.6 GPA at my dream school. 

This is a very brief overview of the 2010s. The back half was necessary self-discovery that I felt has given my life purpose. Part of it was moving out of my father’s and helping my mother remodel a home in desperate need of fixing up. The self-motivation bled into other areas and I think helped my future seem more optimistic.

VI

Meathead fell in with the cats who came around in the morning. He was likely to let me sit next to him and just take in his company. Over weeks and months, I not only got him comfortable with sleeping in the house, but he took control of the backyard. Now that Jack & Eddy were gone, this was his terrain. He’d sit on the grass and determine which cats he could loiter near him. 

At some point my father moved and had to keep his cats with us. While most would leave, Bob returned for good. In that time it became clear that maybe Meathead was happier without him. Every now and then they would fight and, predictably, Meathead would win. Bob was somewhat unstable (read: not housebroken) so he often slept outside and cried constantly. Other times they would run through the entire house like it was a greyhound track. Over and over they would go doing what cats do. I think this was one of the rare instances of perceiving Meathead as “friendly.” It also came across as socially awkward given how inattentive he often was around others. 

We also had a bag by the laundry that we called “the acid” that he loved to rub up against. After a point, we decided his behavior was attributed to him getting into “the acid” again.

VII

As the years went by he was guardian of the house again. Along with the backyard, he made sure to make his presence known. This would often happen by sitting by the screen door or my bedroom window overlooking their feeding area and sneer. On the few occasions where the door would be open, he bolted towards them and stood stoically believing his presence would be enough to scare them off. He didn’t get into fights, but he got by on appearing dominant. This was undercut by me picking him up and dragging him back in the house while he whined about my interference.

Along with being a temperamental cat whose sleeping locales changed with the weather, he adopted my room as a popular hangout. Whenever I was in there, he would puppy dog me. If there were enough pillows at the head, he would take a few and make his own bed. If that wasn’t good, he’d go to the feet and sleep between my legs. There was a time where he used to sleep on my chest. It disappeared as he became less limber. My tossing and turning meant he was constantly falling off and readjusting on my side, back, or other. 

When I was in my designated living room chair, he would wait by my side. When it wasn’t dinner time and he was begging, he would either take to my chest or await a pillow or blanket to lay on. For as affectionate as he became, his clinginess came with a sense of paralysis. You were forced to stay where you were until he was ready to move, if he ever did. Whenever you put the footrest down, he would desperately try to climb up the falling land mass and keep your upper body from taking flight. I often would make my bed by turning the mattress around and he always climbed atop it.

VIII

Around 2018, Tiger died. At the age of 18, he had lived a substantial life. It was a loss that was unfathomable and difficult to move beyond. For as much as I didn’t want to simply have a cat become Tiger 2, there were certain variables I missed. Along with any emotional support I found in his physicality, the pressure of him lying on me was enough to comfort. While we’ve had a dozen cats over the past decade, they have grown smaller and smaller. They’re also not necessarily affectionate in the same way. The few who adopted the house as a central hub tended to at least try to make nice.

By this point, Meathead filled the role in unexpected ways. In the days after Tiger’s passing, he was by my side demanding attention. He’d headbutt you and place his head on your shoulder without complaint. He adopted the role of “new favorite cat” with ease. While he remained clingy until the very end and some days were more obtrusive than others, he was doing what he could to let me know that he loved me. 

IX

In the years following 2018, a major incident spread across the population. Along with any general concern of humans contracting Coronavirus, there was a feline equivalent. I can’t claim to be an expert on the differences, but the biggest similarities were found in the fatality. When a cat got COVID-19, it tended to work quickly. I knew six cats who died in that time. Whether or not they were all the same virus I cannot say. However, the coincidence was enough to create fear. It was around 2021 that Bob fell victim, leaving Meathead as the sole survivor.

He was the last of what I will call “the old guard.” A lot of the significance regarding pets has been what they lived through with me. For Tiger, it was a lot of formative years akin to high school and early college. As much as I could love him for his own personality, connections to the past were fading. By 2021, most of “the old guard” were naturally reaching that age.

I would consider 2015 the cut-off. I saw 25 as the age where I actively tried to better myself. I began to take school seriously and shaped my writing career into what it would become. To me, having anyone who bridged the gap between the old guard and now meant the world to me. They could see progress. For as much as I doubt animals were judging my academics and paychecks as significant markers, there was still the sense that I wouldn’t leave them a failure. They would know I was successful and happy.

Of the old guard, Meathead was the only cat alive when I attended Cal State Long Beach. While he tried to make himself known during Zoom calls in 2021, I did my best to lock him out of the house. Even then he didn’t fully escape my school work. I once wrote a short story about “a cat named Bob,” but it was more about him. I was self-conscious about everyone wondering why I named a cat Meathead. While my teacher was critical of me writing what she saw as “a children’s story,” I was reassured by a fellow student that I tapped into a bias of hers that made me jump to the top of her favorites. My work may have spoken for itself, but I think that implicit bias might’ve been the equivalent of extra credit.

X

It was actually during the writing of the “a cat named Bob” story that the next generation started to make themselves known. Meathead was the kingpin of the house. He also ran a program that felt like he was interviewing cats to be his replacement. The first was Buffy who he trusted enough to sleep in the house but not enough to sleep on the same bed. On more than one occasion, it was clear that Meathead had disagreements and would smack him. Then again, Buffy was the type of cat to be territorial by placing its whole body over the cat food dish. 

For as nice as Buffy was, he was eventually bullied out of the yard by the official replacement: a tuxedo cat named Benny. Despite being very standoffish, Meathead took a liking to Benny that was unmatched even to his brother. Benny was very much a toddler to his grandfatherly ways, but they tolerated each other. Maybe it was a sign that Meathead was too exhausted to put up a fight, but he allowed Benny into his life. This was done in ways that made it feel like he was saying, “He is yours now.” With a decent two years left together, Meathead felt like he was self-consciously trying to make the transition easier.

Next is the hard part. I will understand if you don’t want to read. I wish to protect Meathead’s humanity first and foremost, so I don’t plan to be detailed. However, I feel like it’s part of the story that’s important. 

XI

There weren’t many reasons to be concerned about Meathead’s disappearance for long periods. He was probably doing his best to avoid attention and heat. Even with the neighbors becoming disruptors of the peace with midnight karaoke, I wanted to believe he was fine. Even then, I left the window open hoping he would pop in if he got scared. He could run into my room and hide. The fact he didn’t do it for Independence Day 2024 still seems bothersome. I’d still be able to track him down and give him 10 minutes of attention here or there. Sometimes he’d sleep under the window or back patio.

There were signs that the time was coming. While Tiger had set the bar high by living to 18, I recognized 14 was no spring chicken. Despite his agility and skill at climbing walls, he was slowing down. A lot of it had to with health conditions related to being a white cat with blue eyes. As I learned, these breeds tended to be shy due to health conditions. Blue eyes meant that he was more prone to losing eyesight. He became codependent on things being in specific places, often relying on me to provide guidance. He had lost hearing as time went on…

And then there was the cancer.

This is the only picture since then that I will be sharing in this piece. It was the last or really only time that the cancer could be written off as cute. I don’t wish to discuss it further, but it’s a grotesque experience and gets worse. It’s messy and left a lot of nights feeling guilty at not being able to stop it from spreading. 

I would pin this as the final six months. As much as he remained the same old Meathead, it became harder for us to share the emotional bond. For as much as I could get past it, I still had to get past it. There were sacrifices in trying to convince him that I loved him. There was worry he’d run away because he thought he wasn’t loved.

Then again maybe he knew on a personal level that he was saying goodbye in his own way. His hiding places became more strategic. While I could chalk it up to hot summer temperatures, there was a mix of worry and relief. Worry that I had seen him for the last time. Relief that any pain he wasn’t expressing was officially gone. 

XII

Meathead was special for many reasons. He’s the only cat I’ve known who didn’t leave the neighborhood he was born in. Even in his final day, he was in the same room where he spent a lot of his earliest days. There was something admirable about doing that for 14 years. Whereas Bob had been in a car, Meathead hadn’t since he was neutered in his younger days. There was a point when he was so naïve that I got home and opened the car door. He hopped in without expecting the worst. 

I wanted to believe he would be the cat to complete his life cycle in such a simple fashion. When I didn’t see him for two days, I assumed it was over. It would’ve been poetic, but I also think it would’ve been cruel.

A strange turn of events resulted in me discovering him sleeping on the back patio the week before his passing. What I expected to be a quick 10 minutes of affection resulted in him returning to the house. He was a homebody for the rest of his life. He only disappeared for food and any bathroom habits. Otherwise he was with me. I’d put on the Olympics and sit with him, wondering how much longer we had. I think this acknowledgement allowed him to finally rest. He was never totally feeble, but it felt like acceptance.

XIII

For as sad as August 4, 2024 was, it did have one laugh. As we piled into the car to head to the vet, Billy Joel’s “You May Be Right” was starting. The line that caught our attention was, “And we all enjoyed the weekend for a change.”

Ever since I’ve asked the question, “Are we?” There’s only been one weekend since, so I don’t actually have a good answer.

XIV

It’s hard to lose a cat you’ve loved for 14 years. At the same time I realize there had to be some sacrifice made for his humanity. Cancer is cruel and even the vet admitted his health was “poor.” For as much as I spent the days following asking whether it was the right decision, I look at each individual criticism and think that Meathead was reaching that point organically. The best I was doing was freeing him of suffering. 

In the days since there was a miraculous shift from what time did to who he was. Gone were complications and in its place were the good memories. I got to remember how this stubborn cat learned to experience happiness in his own way. We came to rely on each other’s company. It resulted in one of those relationships that are difficult to replace. 

Then again I don’t want to replace Meathead. I want him to exist as a cat whose journey was long and strange, but also memorable. While some healing still needs to be done, it’s been more peaceful than I could’ve expected. The best I can say is he’s not in pain anymore. Not unless you count Bob bothering him. In that regard… how could hell be any worse?

It’s difficult to write a eulogy for Meathead because our paths weren’t as straight of a line as other cats. He came and went several times before we developed a significant relationship. I knew where he came from. I knew where he ended up. He was very protective and sometimes too mean, but his coarse nature softened with time and revealed someone just wanting love. I’m grateful to have given it to him and hope he’s in a better place now. 

Thank you for everything. You were one of a kind and even if you picked out a successor, nobody could replace you. I love you Meathead. I’m sure you felt the same way.