The day we put our strikingly handsome, gentle Romeo to sleep was the first day that our seasonal fall rains arrived and fell quietly on our parched California landscape. A gentle breeze blew, the air was noticeably cooler, and the wind chime next to the cottage played a melodic, lyrical melody. I sat quietly with my Romeo, our senses soaking it all in. It was also the first day Romeo could no longer walk without falling. His back legs had finally succumbed to his worsening neurological disease that had grown debilitating for him, and he no longer could walk without stumbling. Romeo was such a proud, dignified, and noble cat, and at about 20 years old now, his body was finally failing him. He lay still on my lap, enveloped inside a maroon-red soft fleece blanket, enjoying the stroke of my hand slowly massaging him from head to tail—over and over again for the last two hours of his life. Together, we listened to the noisy chirping of songbirds coming and going from the birdfeeder hanging in front of Romeo’s cottage window. The glass-paned door was wide open to Romeo’s cottage, so he could feel the cool breeze of fall slipping gently through the door, and enjoy the expressive musical songbirds, and hear the soothing rain. Romeo has lived in our backyard cottage for 15 years with a variety of fellow rescue cats that were very compatible with him—all very submissive to Romeo’s alpha male personality. Today, we just tried to be present with what was, to accept it, and enjoy these precious last moments.

Romeo loved soaking up the warmth of the sun on the pathway to his cottage

Romeo was one of those cats that epitomized the phrase—”he found us.” One summer day he just appeared in our yard that was completely contained inside of a 6-foot-tall fence. Romeo was hard to miss, he was a striking blend of Siamese and grey/brown tabby, with arresting eggshell-blue eyes. Like a homing pigeon, he somehow knew he had come to a feline-friendly sanctuary and adopted our back yard immediately. Every night, he slept on the cushions of our patio chairs where I fed him. I could not help but wonder if Romeo left his people, or if his people left him and he was abandoned? So, I put a flexible rubber collar around his neck with a note that asked his people to call us and included our phone number. But three months passed, and Romeo’s note was never answered. Not one phonecall. Over that time, Romeo proceeded to lose six cat collars all with the personal notes I attached! Over the years, they were probably found by gardeners and unsuspecting home-owners wondering what happened to the cat missing their collar? We assumed that Romeo’s people had lived on the other side of our fence, in the large condominium complex that shared our property line—and they had moved away and left their cat behind thinking that he could somehow fend for himself. Domestic cats do not fend for themselves well at all, and most die if they are not found. We noticed that Romeo had a yen to jump over the fence every day, probably looking for his people, hoping to find them, but they were no longer there, and he always came back to us every day, until after a few months, he no longer went over the fence. 

Having done our due diligence, we accepted Romeo into our family of rescue cats. That is, until a friend visited and gushed passionate love all over Romeo and was obsessed with adopting him. Since Romeo was so adoptable and healthy, and we already had 15 other rescue cats that were unadoptable or never adopted, we felt this would be best for him. But a month later, I got a call from Romeo’s adopter who was threatening bloody murder on him if I didn’t come pick Romeo up immediately because he had been attacking her cats. She was literally ready to kill him and said so. I could only think and believe he missed us and wanted to come back home, where he felt he belonged. So we drove to Pacific Heights in San Francisco to save him from sure mortality if he stayed one more day. Romeo was over-the-moon happy to see us and I think honestly–relieved. I will never forget the entire drive home from San Francisco to Walnut Creek, he purred, hummed, chortled, and stared lovingly at us the whole drive back. We commented on how visibly blissful he seemed, not the cat that she described as an angry, pissed-off fighter. Romeo had officially adopted us, and we officially adopted him — from that day on.

When Romeo first came to us, he was a young cat, somewhere we guessed between 4 to 6 years old. He was robust, healthy, friendly, loving, gorgeous, and delighted to be in our backyard more than anything. It was “his” backyard. There he felt the safe protection against the outside world. He happily slept in the garden, occasionally chased a lizard, and unfortunately loved the birds a little too much. Romeo knew he was ours now—and we were his, and we would never let him go. He had been abandoned at least once, adopted at least once, and we didn’t have the heart to put him through it–again. So, he moved into our little backyard cottage that would be his home for the next 15 years. There he shared life with several other amiable rescue cats. Simba was a big favorite–a feral cat turned domestic cat; Gracie, a rescue cat from Animal Rescue Foundation (ARF), was a “rehabilitation cat” for troubled teens who had the responsibility of socializing her for two years before we adopted her; and darling, joyful Alana, a.k.a. “Bugly,” who he adored and tragically died unexpectedly in August 2020 from liver disease; and finally, 14-year-old Mama, a feral, and the only one to survive him in his death.

Romeo lived a good life—a perfect life, really. He had our deepest love, the love and company of his fellow feline companions, and the safety and security of a quiet and peaceful cottage with an attached kennel that included ramps to run along and watch wildlife from. He had flocks of birds to watch from his windows, a garden that beckoned every day where he could explore, and our daily morning and nightly visitations where he would get our enthusiastic devotion for an hour while watching TV. Romeo had the life of Riley. 

Up to the last three years of his life, Romeo was the picture of health. But at about 17 years old he had developed chronic diarrhea. A trip to our vet, Four Corners Veterinary Hospital in Concord, later confirmed Romeo had some thickened bowels. Two X-rays and an ultrasound confirmed Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD) with possible intestinal lymphoma (cancer). Our vet recommended a treatment plan that included daily Prednisolone to reduce the inflammation; the antibiotic Metronidozole for a week when his diarrhea flared up; and a radical change in diet that only included novel protein — rabbit, duck and venison, for both wet and dry foods going forward. This worked well for 1-2 years and held him in check very comfortably. That is, until his diarrhea returned with a vengeance. His disease had significantly progressed and was now diagnosed as intestinal lymphoma, and his treatment plan included the chemotherapy drug Chlorambucil, common name Leukeran; along with weekly B12 injections (eventually monthly); transdermal Prednisolone (rubbed into the inside of his ears); transdermal Methimazole to treat his new hyperthyroid disease which he had developed; and lactated ringers to keep him hydrated. It was a long treatment plan, but I got accustomed to giving it, and it worked to keep Romeo comfortable and happy the last year of his life. Along with his meds, I also started buying whole chicken and whole turkey, boiling the bird, draining all the fat, cutting up the meat, and feeding it to Romeo with the juices, along with cooked liver, and probiotics mixed in—to give him a bland, easy diet that would not trigger his system. He lapped it up and loved it, so we did this about 2-3 times a month. The semi-raw food “Just Food For Cats,” was a total life-saver for Romeo, I just cannot say enough how this food saved Romeo in his final year of life. He loved the food, and it didn’t trigger his gut. Win-win! Between the two foods and his medications, Romeo did well, he ate well, his diarrhea was in check, but he slowly started losing weight his last year and progressively grew weaker.

Romeo stayed engaged in life fully to the very end, loving basking in the sun, laying on the warm patio, rolling in the garden salvia and sage, watching the birds, and soaking up all the loving pets his parents would give him. He had a good quality of life, and that’s what counted. But in addition to all his medical challenges, Romeo started physically failing from neurological disease, a nervous system disorder, where he started losing the motor control of his hind legs, and experiencing severe muscle weakness and a lack of coordination. He was increasingly losing his balance and slowing down physically. Eventually, on his last day, Romeo suddenly lost total control of his hind legs. They just stopped working. This did not happen overnight, but was a slow progression, and I knew this day would come. That was the moment when I realized this is it for my beloved Romeo. I think he knew it too. He held on as long as he could, and had put up such a good fight for years, but his body was failing him now. At somewhere between 19-21+ years Romeo had a full, vital and blessed life.

Romeo died in my arms, peacefully and quietly. After his death, we honored him in our usual way by putting him in a basket surrounded by roses and burning (faux) candles. We let his body lie in rest inside our house, to honor him and his life. He was buried in our backyard, right alongside his other cat mates that preceded him in death. Romeo was the last cat to be buried in our backyard before our divorce and selling and moving away from our house, cottage and garden, where nearly 100 rescue cats had come through on their way to adoption. It was only fitting to bury him in his happy paradise where his spirit could fly free in the place he loved and called home. Now our garden is blessed with one more beautiful feline soul that has graced our earth. Good bye my sweet boy. Rest in peace.

Romeo’s last day, on my lap

Read more about Romeo’s gastro-intestinal disease and effective treatment plan here.