His Name Was Spike

He was such a good kitty. May he forever Rest In Peace.

Spike the cat. Presumably a Maine Coon.

He lived a few doors down from us, in the same row of apartments, with two very nice humans and a dog that abused him. The dog thought he was a chew toy.

He was the happiest cat I ever knew. He’d been rescued as a stray, wandering around outside the neighbors’ church one night, and they brought him home to live with them.

They were pretty sure he was a Maine Coon. I was skeptical of that because Coons are large cats, and he was not large. But he had the fur pattern, and he certainly had the disposition. A very, very sweet kitty who never complained about anything and was happy to be alive.

He was so full of life. He really liked us, and eventually came to live with us because the dog would not leave him alone. He had a permanent rash behind his ears because that’s where the dog liked to chew on him. But he never seemed to be bothered at all by the dog.

Our two cats never accepted him into the house. They would growl and hiss at him, but he didn’t care. He loved us, his new humans, and was happy to be alive and living with us. I remember fondly the way he would gambol when I came home from work every day, hopping from hind legs to front legs as you see cats do sometimes.

That cat loved life. Which was why his sudden, unexpected death came as a major blow to me, and changed my life.

After he’d been missing for a couple of days, we put the word out among the neighbor children to be on the lookout for him. They found him the next day, curled up on the grass, with no apparent injuries, next to the other driveway into the apartment complex.

We had him autopsied. The verdict: a large canine had snapped his neck. Probably either a coyote or a large, vicious dog, they said. The veterinarian said that he probably only suffered for a few seconds.

My lady had seen a mean-looking chow wandering the neighborhood a few days earlier. It looked out of place. Spike was accustomed to being around dogs and trusted them. We presume that the chow was the murderer. Spike probably walked right up to him.

Years later, my lady and I were relaxing at a friend’s house after he’d barbecued some particularly good burgers. I casually asked him what his secret was, and he mentioned a seasoning mix called Spike. My lady and I both said, simultaneously, “Poor Spike,” each without knowing the other was going to say it. And after a short pause, “He was such a GOOD kitty,” also in unison. That’s how special he was. After all that time, the mere mention of his name triggered us.

The shock of someone so sweet, so full of life and love, someone who absolutely loved Life… being suddenly gone like that hit me hard. I suddenly realized that none of us know how much time we have. You can be the happiest person on earth, and have it all taken away from you in an instant. In one chance encounter.

It shook me. He’d only been with us a few months, but his death radically changed my life.

Now, I told you all this in order to tell you something else.

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