I wish I could remember exactly when Mo came into my life. It was well before I adopted Mudpie in 2015, so I'm guessing it was 12 or 13 years ago, and he was already an adult cat.
What I do remember is when he first started showing up I was feeding a neighbor kitty named Milo. Mo would hide under my father's truck up the driveway watching Milo eat on the back step, then come down and clean up whatever Milo left. Milo hated Mo and was constantly trying to bully Mo, but Mo was never a fighter. He would always back down. I would wait until Milo went on his way and then make sure Mo had a pile of food all his own. Eventually Milo got sick and passed away, and Mo had our yard all to himself. I always thought if he didn't have to compete with other cats for food he might eventually decide to trust me, but that never happened.
For many years I was actually under the assumption that Mo had a home. He always appeared around dinnertime like his family might've come home from work and let him out. You would never see him in daylight, he always waited until after dark to come around.
It wasn't until the last few years that I realized he wasn't just skittish around people, he was completely feral, and he didn't have a home. But during that time he also started getting braver, venturing out in the daytime, lounging in the sun in my driveway and yard. Still, I was never allowed to get too close. I was expected to drop his meal on the step and close the door. Only then would he come down to eat.
Winters were the hardest. Anytime we would have a big storm I would make sure to shovel pathways for him, but he often just wouldn't come around in the immediate aftermath of a storm. Sometimes I would go two or three days without seeing him and of course I would be worried sick.
Last year I was relieved to discover he was going into my metal shed in the back yard. It's very old and there's a hole at the bottom leading inside, and he found it! At first I just saw paw prints going inside so I had no idea who they belonged to, but eventually I saw that it was him going in. I took a large Chewy box, filled it with straw and a fleece blanket and put it in the shed for him. At least with winter coming I knew he had good shelter during the worst weather.
As an aside, my constant state of worry for him led to the most hysterical dreams. One night I dreamed that he was using a skateboard to get away from me faster, and another night I dreamed that he arrived at my doorstep pregnant! He came into the house and when his litter arrived they were piglets! That little guy completely worked his way into my head and my heart.
I always knew the time would come when his health would start to fail and there wouldn't be anything I could do to help him. That time came in mid-February. We had our one big storm of the season, and he disappeared...for a couple weeks. I started worrying he had gotten trapped in someone's outbuilding so I posted on a neighborhood forum asking everyone to keep an eye out for him. Finally he starting coming around again, but he wasn't himself. He was only coming once a day to eat and then disappearing. He lost a lot of weight.In mid-March I received an email from a neighbor one street over saying that Mo had spent a lot of time in their yard over the years, sleeping under their deck. On that particular Saturday afternoon they had seen him crawling into a storm pipe appearing to have difficulty walking. I went over immediately but he couldn't be found. The next afternoon he was back in my yard, looking absolutely filthy (for an outdoor cat he always took meticulous care of himself), making a beeline for the shed. I never found out what happened to him that weekend.
Thankfully as the weather improved, so did he. As the spring progressed though I noticed him drinking from rain puddles (something he had never done) and peeing a lot in the yard. There would be a wet spot every now and then on the blacktop where his bottom had been. As a senior male kitty, I knew this meant his kidneys were failing.
He had such a wonderful summer though. It was hot and dry and he spent every day sunbathing in my yard and in my neighbor's garden. He even felt good enough to chase mice and chowed down on a couple while I was watching! He was so proud of himself. Dad and I marveled over how well he was doing, wondering if we might be blessed with another winter worrying about him.
Then as September began he started to go downhill again, only coming around once per day for a small snack and then disappearing. Some days he would visit and not eat anything at all. Very quickly he became thin and frail. It was obvious he wasn't going to bounce back this time.
By last week he started sniffing my fingers when I put my hand out the door and I was even allowed to gently stroke his forehead, but if I stepped outside to try and get closer to him he would still run.
On Friday I noticed his back legs were covered in urine and flies were buzzing around him. I opened the back door...and he walked halfway in! Sadly Mudpie immediately began hissing and growling and he ran back out. He needed help, but he was still too wary to be trapped. Helpless doesn't begin to describe how I felt. I knew the poor little guy was going to keep running until he couldn't run any longer.
Saturday he filled his tummy with rotisserie chicken, then took off across the road into a neighbor's back yard. I was happy that he still wanted to roam around and patrol his territory. It ended up being his last great adventure.
Sunday morning he arrived at my doorstep so completely exhausted that he laid down on top of his chicken while he was eating. I sat on the step beside him where he allowed me to pet him and kiss him on the forehead three times. He was even purring.
When he got up he was stumbling as he walked and I noticed a horrific gaping wound on his inner leg. I tried coaxing him into Mudpie's carrier and a box but he took off across the lawn. Later that afternoon I found him lying on the grass by the road, cars whizzing by him! In a panic I grabbed him, but he slipped my grasp and went stumbling into my neighbor's garden. Again I lost track of him. All evening I went out every hour with a flashlight trying to find him to no avail.
I don't know where he spent Sunday night, but Monday morning he somehow made his way back to me even though he could barely walk. My brave, sweet boy practically collapsed in the driveway, and I knew we were at the end of the road. I placed him in a box with blankets and told him what an honor it had been to take care of him all those years. He kept reaching his paw out for me like he didn't want me to leave him. I promised I would stay with him until the end, and he would remain with me always.
I was able to make an appointment for 12:45 to end his suffering, and his heart stopped at 1:12. Everyone at the vet's office said he was the sweetest boy. He purred the entire time they were inserting the IV. In my nearly 50 years of living with cats this was the first time I've witnessed a euthanasia, and it was so peaceful.
My greatest fear was that one day he would just disappear, and I would never know what happened to him. At hard as it was to let him go, it was such a relief that I could give him that final gift and he didn't die alone. Even though he didn't want to live inside my house, he still considered this his home, and he loved me enough to want to be with me at the end.
In his last moments I told Mo to look for my Mom when he got to the Rainbow Bridge. I know she's taking care of him for me now.
On Monday evening a neighbor emailed me saying, "You gave him the best life he would allow." Her words were a tremendous comfort, but my heart still breaks when I think about all the things he never had.
I'll love you forever, Mo.