Penelope

After writing about the cats we currently have living with us, I feel like I need to write about Penelope, who lived with me from 1997 to 2013. Growing up, we had a cat named Pongo, but Penelope was the first pet I had on my own, as an adult. My relationship with her lasted longer than any other in my life to date, except for those with my parents and brother. I will never forget her, and I want to tell you a little about her.

I was living in Dayton, Ohio in 1997, but planning on leaving and moving to Bowling Green to go to school. A coworker found a little calico kitten wandering in the fields of her rural farm. She couldn’t keep her, due to her husband’s allergies, but knew that I had wanted to adopt a cat. At the time, I wasn’t living in a place that allowed pets, However, another friend offered to foster this kitten for a few months until I moved to a place where we could live together.

Shortly after taking her in, my friend called and said we needed to name her. She and her family had a few suggestions. One was Penelope, and that stuck in my head as the best choice. It echoed a lot of fond childhood memories of Penelope Pitstop from the Hanna-Hanna-Barbera cartoons Wacky Races and the Perils of Penelope Pitstop, plus the elegant Lady Penelope from Thunderbirds. Also, I knew that, like the Penelope of Trojan Wars history, she would be spending time in our apartment waiting for me to come home. So that felt appropriate. 

Another suggestion was Madelyn. Since the friend taking care of her was Jocelyn, I thought that name subtly honored that relationship. So she received two names: Penelope Madelyn, and we moved together to Bowling Green, where I finished my bachelor’s degree.

In 2000, we moved to Tucson, Arizona, where I would be attending graduate school. Along the way, we stopped at a rest area. I took her out on a leash and harness, and left her with a friend while I went to get her some water. When I walked away, she wriggled off the leash and went running away. My friend and I were able to catch her, with the help of a complete stranger. I have never forgotten the terror I felt at that possibility that I might have lost her at that Tennessee rest stop. I’ve also never forgotten the gratitude I felt at that stranger helping us catch her. I think because of that, whenever I am in a position to help someone in any way, I try to do so.

After Tucson, we moved to Las Vegas in 2001, first to an apartment and then a house. And that’s where we stayed. I remember the first day we moved into the house. Penelope immediately went and curled up in the corner of the walk-in closet in the bedroom to hide. I went in with a big stack of comic books and just sat with her until she was ready to explore. She cautiously left the closet and walked slowly down the hall. Once she found the stairs, she ran down them like she had never seen such a thing before. And after that, she felt completely at home.

Eventually, I met a woman who became my girlfriend, who then moved in with us, to whom I became engaged, and who I eventually married. The first time she came to my house, she had to help me give Penelope pills to help with her occasional bouts of feline acne. She tells me that seeing how I felt about Penelope and how I treated her was one of the reasons she fell in love with me. And I think she fell in love with Penelope, too.

In late 2009, we adopted a Senegal parrot, who we named Noel. We were concerned about having a bird and a cat in the same house, but Penelope rarely gave Noel much notice. We could have Noel sitting out on a perch with us as we ate or watched TV, and Penelope would almost never even acknowledge him. Sometimes she would sit on our laps or nearby and look at him, but she never tried to attack or anything. I miss being able to have Noel out with us, but our current cats aren’t so chill when it comes to the bird. They don’t attack him in his cage or anything, but I don’t think we can take the chance of having him out the way we used to.

Penelope was always a sweetheart. She would always sit with us if we were watching TV or working or sleeping. She would always cuddle up on my lap or between my legs, and she loved sitting on my wife’s neck or shoulders. She was always small, never weighing more than eight pounds, and almost never scratched or bit, except by accident.

She always showed aggression to other cats walking by the windows, so we never brought another cat into the house. Instead, we were her companions, and she was ours. Before I met my wife, she was the one I always came home to, who was always waiting for me. 

Even after my wife moved in with us, it felt like Penelope’s house more than anyone’s. On those rare occasions that Penelope had to spend time at the vet, the house felt completely empty and wrong if she wasn’t there. I couldn’t leave the house without knowing where she was, and that she was safe. And it felt weird sleeping at night without her in my bed.

Eventually, time started catching up with her. She had arthritis in her hip, and started to slow down. There were also times she would get dehydrated or constipated or vomit more than usual. We took her to the vet, who started running tests. They weren’t sure what was affecting her, but they told us it probably wasn’t cancer (which we hadn’t actually asked if it might be).

In 2011, we finally received a diagnosis: she appeared to have small cell lymphoma. The vet started her on chemotherapy, and we were told that would maybe extend her life by about six months. We got two years. 

In June of 2013, she began having seizures one day. We rushed her to the ER, and that night, we were told that if they couldn’t get the seizures under control, we were probably going to have to say goodbye. I wasn’t ready to do that, but I prepared for the worst. Fortunately, she did stop seizing, and we had another two months with her.

We did everything we could to keep her comfortable and happy those last two months. We played with her, held her, and loved her. We put litter boxes upstairs and down so she wouldn’t have to climb the stairs if she wasn’t able. When it became hard for her to step into the boxes, we put down mats so she could just do the best she could. 

Then, one night in late August, she was having trouble standing with her hind legs. That night, I knew we had probably come to the end. We took her to the ER. The next day, they called to say she seemed to be improving, and we went to spend some time with her. The day after that, though, they called to say she had crashed during the night, and that it was time to let her go.

We drove down to the hospital to be with her at the end. She lay on my lap, and I sang, “You Are My Sunshine” to her as she went to sleep.

Penelope, the second to the last time we visited her.

Penelope was sixteen years old when she passed, which is pretty old for a cat. She was with me for all but the first six months of her life. And I loved her every day. I still do. For many of those years, she was the one I came home to every night. I took care of her, and she took care of me. 

I don’t think I can completely explain what she meant to me. I was on my own for most of those years, but with her, I didn’t feel alone. I think that people who haven’t had pets maybe never really understand the bonds that form for people who do. I think people who bring pets into their existing family maybe don’t really form the same relationships with their pets that single people do. Or maybe they do after all; how would I know? All I know is that having Penelope in my life saved me from feeling alone so many times. She saved me.

Some time ago, I discovered the work of the artist Jenny Parks. She had painted a picture of a black cat sitting in the open doorway of the TARDIS from Doctor Who, looking inside. A few years ago, I commissioned her to paint a version of that painting, only with Penelope in the TARDIS door. She did a fantastic job, capturing the subtleties of Penelope’s coloring in the picture.

The first time I saw the painting, I cried, even though it made me feel exactly the way I expected it would. Her body is no longer with us, but I can imagine her spirit still out there, traveling throughout the universe.