H.R.F Chester, in memoriam

My beloved Chester died on February 7th, about 6:15 pm.  It's been 3 1/2 months and I can't type those words without tearing up.  But he deserves this, and I want to honor what a remarkable impact he had on my life-- the loving, funny and always regal, His Royal Fuzziness, Chester.

In April 2001 a tiny tabby kitten, maybe 10 days old, was found stuck in a wood pile of a back yard in Morrisville.  A stray cat had kittens, the assumption was that while moving them he fell and she couldn't reach him.  But she never came back, despite the cries of the kitten and a plate of tuna fish.

Raleigh had just been diagnosed with cancer, so everyone at M139s agreed that 'Laurie needs another cat!'  I met him when he was less than 2 weeks old, someone fed him until he could eat on his own. At about 6 weeks old he came home with me.  Tabitha wanted nothing to do with him, but Raleigh bonded with him, living another two years.  Since I was losing Sir Walter Raleigh the kitten became another of Elizabeth 1rst courtiers and protectors: The Earl of Leicester, or Chester.

From the moment he was big enough to get off and on the bed he always slept on top of me.  He'd come up on my chest, purring and happily drooling, lying down over my heart, getting cuddles and skritches, before settling between my legs to sleep.  My bed became his bed, which he graciously shared with me at night.

Chester defended his castle against everyone, hissing and striking out at any who entered.  A vet said rarely a hand-raised cat would fasten on to one person and not be sociable with anyone else.  I was Chester's human, and his world.

He knew something was wrong with my heart; one night about 3 weeks before the first surgery he came up on my chest as usual, but stopped when his paw felt the vibration of the malfunctioning valve.  He stared at his paw, at the point under my left breast, back and forth, then backed away.  He knew it wasn't right.  During all four surgeries people reported that Chester was never seen off the bed he shared with me.  He would growl, hiss and swipe anyone there to feed him.  After all the surgeries the cats would cluster around me, but Chester was like velcro, not even letting me go to the bathroom without him.  It was painful to have him on my chest after heart & lung surgeries, but we both needed those nightly sessions.

With each surgery I'd make sure my will and living will were up-to-date, and had people willing to take Tabitha, Zerla and KC.  But no one would agree to take Chester, and I couldn't blame them.  He was assaultive to everyone, no matter how often he saw them.  He scratched & bit, frequently drawing blood.  I made it clear that in the event of my death Chester was to be put to sleep.  There were a few times in those years of horrific pain, repeated surgeries with agonizing recoveries that I wanted to give up, to stop fighting, to be released from this body.  But knowing that Chester would die as a result kept me from taking that easier path.  I just couldn't extinguish the light of his special little soul with which I'd been entrusted .  Chester was the reason I chose to live.

Chester was incredibly intelligent, inquisitive, always intensely curious.  He also had the most expressive face, with a myriad of expressions which let you know exactly what he was thinking. Adorable face, fluidity of movement, fur like silk that didn't shed.  He made me laugh every single day, even in the worst of my pain and trauma.  He would stretch up and tap my thigh, asking to be picked up, and then moving to drape himself around my neck.  Whenever the doorbell rang he would run to investigate who was there for him to torture. Every single night he would stalk up my legs and torso, nose aside any book in his way, plop down on my chest right over my heart, and we'd have our love session, followed by stretching out his long body on my legs as we both went to sleep.  How I missed that whenever I wasn't at home.

In December 2015, soon after Zerla's cancer was diagnosed, he started exhibiting the same symptoms.  As he worsened there wasn't anything to do. He'd needed sedating for routine visits, and even the mobile vet refused to come after a couple visits from which she emerged covered in blood and scratches. I'd known for years if he got sick vet's visits were not an option.

By early January 2016 his weight had decreased and then his legs started with violent trembling when he tried to eat or drink.  I called an in-home euthanasia service, not wanting him to suffer.  That night, watching him struggling, I thought 'What the hell, nothing to lose', and gave him one of Zerla's steroid pills.  Less than an hour later he was eating, drinking, trotting around--it was a frickin' miracle! By the time the vet arrived the next morning he was his normal self, including growling & swiping.  Dr Brad listened to the story, assessed Chester from a safe distance, and agreed he probably had cancer.  He said 'The steroids will keep him more comfortable, but it won't stop the disease progression. It will probably only be a couple weeks more.'  He gave me more steroids and some liquid pain medicine and said to call when it was time.

I'll never know what disease Chester had, but whatever it was it responded to steroids and being spoiled rotten.  Every three months I'd email Dr Brad, who would express his amazement and send me more steroids. His quality of life was great: he spent his usual 22 hrs in bed, ate, scampered around, investigated every bag that came into the house, growled & swiped at people, and every night came onto my chest for our cuddle sessions.

In June 2017 KC, Chester & I moved back to Bucks County, into a retirement community.  Now 16 yo Chester's hips were getting worse, and the autoimmune disease was hitting my joints, so it was easier on both of us without stairs.  Surprisingly, quirky little KC died on 9/11, after only a few days of illness, at only 12 yrs old.  We both missed him.  For the first time ever it was just Chester & me.    His rear hips were clearly painful, but responded very well to CBD oil.  An antique child's chair next to a bench worked for him getting up in the bed. I'd hear him before seeing his head pop up from the foot of the bed, the morning sunlight around his head like a halo and back-lighting his ears.  His time on my chest at night became more brief, but mornings I'd wake to him curled on my stomach or next to me, which he hadn't done before KC died.  He loved burrowing under the covers, popping his head up when I'd come home from wherever.  He'd still reach up and tap my thigh to be picked up, although he could no longer drape across my shoulders without discomfort.  In January 2020 he had been on hospice for a record four years.

But, as he passed that milestone he started worsening throughout January. Despite eating he lost more weight.  I started taking short videos of him walking into the bedroom & jumping up onto the bed.  I called the service, Lap of Love, scheduled and cancelled twice when he would go back to his baseline. Then one night, after hours in bed, he emerged dragging his rear legs, he didn't seem upset or in pain, just confused.  He stumbled around, then kinda collapsed, looking up at me with such bewilderment.  He recovered after another few minutes, but I knew it was time.

I called and scheduled the euthanasia appointment for the third time.  The next day he seemed better, and again I deliberated, but then he fell trying to get on the little chair next to the bench.  I raced to his side to see him crumpled on the ground, looking at me again with such confusion, although he recovered after a few minutes.  I thought to myself  'What if it happens when I'm asleep?  Or not here?  What if he hurts himself and is in pain, and the vet can't get here for 24 hours?'  His gait had become markedly worse in three weeks, the videos documented the significant muscle wasting in his hind end. The adage  'it's always too soon until it's too late'  was the basis of my decision.  This time I didn't cancel.

Our last day together was really good.  That morning I woke with him curled on top of my belly, we spent most of the day in bed, with him curled up next to me while I read and stroked his velvety fur.  At about 4:00 he got up, ate & used his litter box, and then ate treats from my hand. I knew it would be the last time I'd feel his fuzzy chin brushing my hand, eating from it with complete trust.  I gave him a couple drops of the pain medicine to sedate him, took a Xanax to sedate myself a bit.  He got up on the bed under his own steam.  He curled up on my lap and snoozed while tears slid down my cheeks and I sent him images of so many happy times together.  He woke when the vet called to say she was about 20 mins away, I told her to just come in, not wanting him to be disturbed.  My last picture of him is lying on my belly with his head up while we watched the birds out the back window.

The vet, Dr Jessica, was wonderful, kind & compassionate. Chester put his head out to sniff her hand and even let her scratch his ears as she marveled how soft his fur was.  He was calm, sedated by the pain med.  I told her how important it was that he left this world lying on my chest so that the last thing he would feel and hear was the beating and clicking of my heart, as he had for thousands of nights.  When she gave him the sedative he cried and struggled while I held him tight and told him how sorry I was, and then he was rapidly unconscious.  After getting paw prints I laid him over my heart, while stroking him and telling him again how much I loved him, how thankful I was that he had been in my life, how much his love and devotion had meant to me and sustained me, and how very much I would miss him.  She put the final needle in his kidney, and he didn't react.  I felt his soul leave a second or two later.


Chester was with me for almost 19 years, a third of my life.  He was my last link to the Squad, my last link to life 'before sick'.  He was the end of a 30 year long chain of fuzzy companions.  He was with me through the worst years of my life, sustaining me and becoming my touchstone.  He was so much more than 'just a cat' or 'only a pet'. 

I had a pillow made with a picture of him on either side: one side with him curled up looking  at me adorably, the other side is him stretched out on my legs.  It was a comfort to have that weight on me when going to sleep and something to hug while crying. It's still strange to get into bed without him there, and major heartache not having our night time love session.  There is comfort in having lived every day for over four years knowing that it could be his last good day, which resulted in my savoring those little moments which end up being the ones missed most.

There are two new cats, adopted sooner than I'd planned due to quarantine.  They are sweet, and good company; more on them another time.

My memory is bad from all the time on bypass.  I've always made notes on each cat's special quirks and fond memories.  I started Chester's as soon as he got sick, then put little memos and updates as the years went by, memory helped even more by the advent of smart phones and tons of pictures.  So, even now, Chester brings a smile to my face every day.

He's still around me, I believe.  A message I received from Spirit when Zerla was sick provides me with great comfort: while we won't be together again in the same way their love stays a part of my soul forever.  The love we share with others, be they human or animal, imprints on both souls, carried with us no matter what comes after this life.

Chester was a unique presence, an incredibly strong personality, a source of great joy and love.  I'm incredibly grateful that I was his human.