Togo

After 17 and a half years, Togo slipped from us pain-free, with dignity, honor, and with love in his eyes, from the comfort of his own home.

The lighter and quieter side of the "Benin and Togo" team, he was often overshadowed by his more forward brother. Yet, Togo was always my favorite for his quiet, constant love and affection. He was nothing flashy, but he was always there.

He liked everyone, enjoyed meeting new people, having a particular liking for women. He loved to stay up and watch everyone partying at New Year's. His favorite people he loved ferociously and deeply. There clearly was an inner circle of people Togo loved most.

Togo traveled the world by car, boat and plane. He was never put-off, or turmoiled by these wild rides, always the first to explore his new surroundings. His curiosity never dimmed. His life was fuller than most cats, having sailed the Bahamas, camped across the U.S., lived on a lake, and had innumerable visitors and friends. The years of his life were full, varied, and he really relished each new adventure.

Eventualy we learned that Togo lived everyday with hyperthyroidism, a heart murmur, arrhythmia, and IBD since the day he was born.

He lived every day with these undiagnosed until at the young age of 12, Togo had his first diagnosed flare-up of IBD, tho we now suspect previous 'incidences' were flare-ups that passed too quickly to be diagnosed. This one nearly killed him. He went from 9.5 pounds, down to 5.8. Togo fought back, working himself slowly up to being able to eat and walk again. He started to venture outside, and eventually recovered to a modest 7.5 pounds. Throughout it all, he always kept his inquisitive and lover personality. However, his body was forever damaged by the experience, loss of muscle and connective tissue made him into a less rambunctious guy, and his heart was further damaged. Togo lived another five years after this episode, with an extremely good quality of life. He got switched to canned food, was allowed to sleep on the bed, still ventured outside and wrestled his brother. Other than his slight frame, there was no outward evidence of any of his medical problems. In the end his body had just been thru too much and tired out on him. He was alert, pain free, and happy. I guess I cannot ask for anything more.

Togo liked to play, but (in his usual way), very discerning about what he liked and what he didn't. Laser toy - out. Bell toy - in. String, all kinds - in. Plastic bags must be licked. Ditto for photos. Making the bed - very in, especially fun is attacking the sheets while trapped in them. Boxes - also in. Cat nip is for eating, then sleeping.

I cannot begin to explain how smart he was, the things he put together on his own, and his ability to figure puzzles out. Smartest cat I have even known.

His favorite time was "Togo Time", that magical time when we start getting ready for bed, until we finally fall asleep. He would anticipate it and start purring in advance. I could hear him from rooms away, somehow knowing and coming for his special pets. We'd play with a bell on a wire for a few minutes, working him out and getting his heart going, and then it was time for dipping under the covers - a very bad habit he learned, where he sleeps with his body under the blankets, and his head out. He'd groom my arm, or head (one of his favorite passtimes - always inducing purrs) and with a deep sigh, slip into dreamland, twitching his little legs as he chased imaginary rabbits.

Steady, quiet, unassuming, solid-as-a-rock, Togo was the consistent undercurrent of my life. Like air, he was always there, always around. I only noticed how much I needed and wanted him when I wasn't with him.

The Groomer, Einstein, Thinker, Carry-Out Kitty, Lover, Togolicious and Togito.

My time with him was not enough. I am very, very lucky to have known and experienced every facet of my life with Togo. He was a warrior, lover, stubborn, and a true soulmate of a kitty.

With apologies to Mr. James Stewart for blatant plagarism, a poem:

My cat, named Togo.
He rarely came to me when I would call, unless he felt like it. But mostly--he didn't come at all.
When he was young, he'd knock over lamps and books during play, he did things his way.
In the middle of the night he'd wake me, just for covers, or pets, you see.
He'd run off outside for the day, clawless, as if to say, he'd fend for himself if I didn't obey.
He lived on a sailboat on the Carribbean sea, but the story's long to tell. Suffice to say that he survived and ate fishie.
In the evening (just before bed), he was always first to the bedroom door. The humans brought up the rear with books, tea and more.
And he'd charge up the bed with anticipation and glee, what a beautiful sight to see.
And if Dad would remember, out came Bell Toy for a twirl!
But every once in awhile he'd stop in his tracks and with a frown on his face, look around.
It was just t'make sure, that I was there, his stable ground.
He'd look at me as I'd start to retire, or read my book for a while, and then we'd snuggle down to sleep, on the side by the fire.
He'd start a loud purr, and I'd pet him for awhile. He'd poke at the covers with his nose and I'd lift them with a smile.
And before very long, he'd lay with his head on my arm, asleep in no time at all.
And there were nights when I'd feel him climb up on the bed and lie beside me, and I'd pat his head;
And there were nights when I'd feel this stare, and I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there and I'd reach out to stroke his hair;
And sometimes I'd feel him sigh, and I think I know the reason why.
He'd wake up at night, and he would have his fear of the dark, of life, of lot's of things, and he'd be glad to have me near.
And now he's dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him climb up on the bed, and lie beside me, and I pat his head;
And there are nights when I think I feel that stare, and I reach out my hand to stroke his hair, and he's not there.
Oh, how I wish that wasn't so, I'll always love a cat named Togo.