George Evinrude Dickens

This beautiful creature and I met in the fall of 1987, August I think it was. I was living with my boyfriend David in an apartment complex called Londontown in Knoxville, TN. I was 21 years old.

It was a Sunday and we were on the couch watching Bugs Bunny cartoons. There was a crying sound out in the courtyard, so I went out to investigate. I went onto the patio and realised that the sound was a cat crying, so I hollered “Here, kitty, kitty!”. Suddenly, a little head popped up over the long grass and here comes this little grey stripey kitty bounding across the yard. He streaked across the yard and practically jumped into my arms.

Being the budding Cat Lady that I was, I took this little varmint into the apartment and scrounged up something for him to eat. The little kitty was very pretty in the face and very happy to be getting all this attention.

Dave and I talked and we figured the kitty belonged to a resident, so I made fliers and posted them around the complex. Soon, a scratching post and some litter appeared at the front door and we later surmised that the kitten belonged to the upstairs neighbors who had gotten both a kitten AND puppy at the same time and realised what an idiotic thing they did. Dickens never did like dogs and this is probably why!

So, at that point, the kitten was officially mine, although in the week that had elapsed, I knew I wouldn’t give him back anyway. We had already sort of named him, but now he was christened George Evinrude Dickens.

I know you’re wondering what the hell his name is all about. Let me explain. Since we were watching Bugs Bunny at the time Dickens chose me as his mom, we gave him the name George from the cartoon that was on: the Abomidable Snowman who finds Bugs, grabs him up and says “I will hug him and pet him and call him George.” So, George is his official first name. The Evinrude part is because when he was little, his purrbox was already full sized and you could hear him purr from across the room. Evinrude is the name of an outboard boat motor, you see. The Dickens part is because he was a little dickens!

He’d run around the apartment like a dervish, going so fast that he’d go sideways along the front of the couch! He’d also get into the papasan chair (they are like a bowl) and run around and around the chair then come to a screeching halt and hiss. It was hysterical. It was during this period that I learned he liked to play hide and seek. I kid you not. He would hide around a corner and jump out at me then run away and hide for me to come and find him. We played hide and seek for most of his life. I have witnesses to verify this!

He also liked to play fetch. You could throw his mousey toy and he’d bring it back for you to throw again. He did this until he reached middle age, then I suppose he figured he was too old for all that silly fetching stuff. In addition to fetch, he would shake hands, give High Fives and give kisses for bedtime treats. He did these things his whole life. Again, I kid you not. His brothers and sisters all learned how to shake, but only Dickens would give a High Five. He was lefthanded, FYI.

When I first moved to Georgia in 1988, I would drive home for the weekends quite often, so Dickens always came with me. That cat has many, many miles on him! It would be just us, boogeying up the highway to Knoxville. He liked to visit Grandma’s house. I moved a lot in this period, too, and he was always very nonplussed by all the hoopla. In 1991, I moved to Derrydown and that is where we spent the next 13 years. Everyone on the street knew Dickens. When he was young, he’d go visit with the neighbors. He was very sociable for most of his life. Dickens fancied himself quite the fighter until he reached middle age (around 8 or so). He had many scars in his ears from fighting with the neighborhood cats. He was quite territorial. I don’t know how many times I had to clean him up after a fight and give him antibiotics for abscesses.

He was laid back about most things, but don’t screw with his schedule. You could set your watch by him. Once he got into a routine, he made sure that you were up at the same time every day to feed him and you served his dinner at the same time every night. This was mostly a good thing if you forgot to set your clock, but it was no fun if you’d been out until 4am drinking and he demanded that you get your sorry ass out of bed promptly at 7:30am to feed him! If you were late for dinner, he’d be waiting for you and I SWEAR if he had a watch he’d be pointing at it, saying “You are LATE. What was so important that MY dinner is late??” He would always make me think of the king in the Bugs Bunny cartoon screaming “Cook! Cook! Where’s my lunch? Where’s my dinner? WHERE’S my hossenpfeffer?!!” When dinner was being served, he would always stretch up on the cabinet right next to me and clean the fork. It was his job.

In 1992 or 1993, I had a big scare. Dickens was an indoor/outdoor cat and he apparently got ahold of something poisonous and became very ill. The vets at Pets Are People Too (assholes, don’t use them!) told me that he might die. They did liver biopsies and all this stuff to confirm the liver damage, but he pulled through on his own. His liver recovered and he never had any more trouble with that. He was a healthy cat for most of his life. He had icky teeth and had to have one removed when he was about 12 or 13, but that’s about it.

He accepted his brothers and sisters with equanimity. He always made sure he was Boss, but he never really beat on any of his siblings. Even when they sorely deserved it! In his later years, he became a “social groomer” which means that he was a cat that groomed others in his group. His brother DJ would seek him out for a face wash and even feral girl Bernadette would allow Dickens to groom her. It was very sweet. DJ would sometimes almost knock Dickens over when he’d ram into him wanting his head washed.

Dickens became a very Yoda-like cat in his later years. He would sit and stare at me when he wanted something — playing Jedi mind tricks (Let me out you will. Feed me you will.). He began to “murp” at me when it was time to eat or he wanted out. He wouldn’t meow, he’d say “murp”. He also became a lap cat. He wanted to sit in my lap all the time, which is very different than when he was young. He was always a floor cat. He would sometimes sleep in the bed with me, but always at the foot, not touching. He liked cool surfaces rather than warm back then. He’d even sleep in the sink occasionally, which was a real shock if you went to pee at 2am and turned on the light to find a big old stripey cat in the sink!!

By around age 14 his health began to decline. He lost weight and got that old cat look. I had his blood checked to see if his liver was causing trouble, but that test revealed that it was the kidneys failing, not the liver. It was no shock, kidney failure is one of the top reasons that old cats are ill. The numbers were just a little off, but once this happens, it’s a slippery slope. I kept an eye on him and he seemed to be doing pretty well.

He got a little sick in August of 2003, so I got his blood checked and the kidney numbers were looking worse. They weren’t horrible, but it was clear that he was ill. He lost more weight and he was plagued with diarrhea. I had to take him in for fluids occasionally, which usually perked him right up. We bought our house and moved in on Dec 27, 2003. Dickens was moving slowly, but didn’t seem to be any sicker. As a matter of fact, during the move-in period, he staged an escape. We were bringing in the fish tank so we put all the varmints in the back of the house, behind the hall door. The door doesn’t latch well, so Dickens could open it easily. Sensing an escape attempt, I put the heavy clock counterweights behind the door, wrapped in a towel. That cat organised his siblings, pulled out the towel and spearheaded an escape!! We found the door open, with Dickens on the porch and DJ looking around nervously in the living room. It was the funniest thing EVER! Creepily smart cat, my Dickens!

A few weeks after that, he took a turn for the worse. I took him in for fluids and we checked his blood again on Monday January 12. The numbers were very, very bad. His kidneys were functioning, but they were not cleansing his blood at all and he was toxic. He was down to less than 7 pounds. (He was a good sized cat in his prime: 15 pounds or so.) We tried to save him with fluids, but it just didn’t work.

He died in my arms on Friday, January 16, 2004. He would have been 17 years old in the spring. Mornings and feeding times are the hardest to bear, since he was almost always the first sound I heard when I awoke and he would always do that fork thing at feeding times.

I know that this little being was “only” a cat, but let me tell you something: he was the best friend I ever had and he was with me longer than anyone else in my adult life. He was also the smartest cat I ever knew. He really could problem-solve and make decisions. I’ve had many cats since I was a kid and I’ve never known another one like this one.

I will miss him for the rest of my life. I hope Bast sees fit to give us another round together, but her wisdom is not mine to know. I’m grateful to have had him for as long as I did. There will never be another George Evinrude Dickens. He was truly one of a kind. May be romp in the yard and sleep in sunbeams for all eternity.

Dickens, you were my light and I will always love you. -Mommy