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11 May 2010

Au Revoir, Pierre Tout-Tout.

Written by sally @ 1:18 pm — Section: sally

Internet, I have been keeping something from you. It’s about Pete, o he of putting his cat butt on the tub drain and pooping directly into it/attempting to eat the faces of all of our guests/attempting to eat my face off while I sleep.

While Pete was a terrible cat a great majority of the time, he seemed to understand that to do bodily harm to Spike would mean only one thing. And while Pete ate or attempted to eat the faces of our houseguests/housesitters, he was strangely tolerant of Spike. Pete would lay directly in Spike’s path as he was running through the living room pushing a truck, and then dart away right before he got creamed. It was a fun game, but as I have lived with a psychopath cat for almost five years, I know this: he is not predictable. One minute he is purring in your lap and the next you have a pillow over your head as you yell for your husband to rescue you from the demon who is doing that sideways kitty dance with the ears back and the huffing/puffing. A few months ago, Spike got away from me and was happily beating on Pete, and while Pete took it, he also raised his paw as if he was going to smack him, and I thought, what am I waiting for? Because it’s going to happen. As much as he may have understood me (and I really and truly thought he understood me) when I said “IF YOU HARM THE BABY YOU ARE GOING AWAY FOREVER,” Pete was not 100% in control of his kitty emotions and one day, he was going to try to eat Spike’s face off. This is a fact.

It occured to me that if I waited for this to happen, not only would I have a baby with no face, I would also have:
a) my parents yelling at me about how I let this happen
b) Larry’s parents yelling at me about how I let this happen
c) lots of tears
d) a dead cat.

So instead of waiting for this to happen, we just decided it was time for Pete to go away. And being put to sleep was the only option for old Pete-Pete. We tried drugs. We tried putting him outside, but he was terrified and would stand at the door and moan. He was not rehomeable, at least not if we told the truth about his temperment/lack of sanity. (We tried.) Sending him to the pound would mean he would be put to sleep as soon as they realized he was insane, i.e., 10 seconds after he was dropped off. Sending him to the no-kill shelter would mean he would spend the rest of his unhappy life in a cage, getting more and more pissed off, and eating the faces of those who cleaned his litter box. We decided it would be best for all of us if we just chose a day when no one was bleeding or screaming and said our goodbyes. This wasn’t a punishment for Pete, and even though he was just a stupid cat for christ’s sake, he couldn’t help it that he was nuts. If he had a faulty liver and needed to be put down, this would be the humane thing to do. Pete just happened to have a faulty brain.

I didn’t tell you before, Internet, because I didn’t want you to say, OH THERE’S ANOTHER SOLUTION! Listen: there was no other solution. I loved that stupid cat even though he used his poop as a weapon to control us all.

Let me take a moment to say some nice things about Pete: he had very soft fur. He was a loud purrer. He was a very neat eater. He bathed often. He was very talented and several times removed a large, five-foot painting from the wall, slinging it behind the bookcase. (Mix, who was housesitting, saw him do this once. His technique was to stand on the back of the couch and shove the painting with his front paws over and over until it got enough momentum to pop off the wall and fly through the air.) He loved to play with his mousies, and because I loved him, I once rescued a mousie he dumped in the toilet. (Additional detail you don’t need: the toilet had pee in it.) He would fetch his toys Larry threw for him, and played a mean game of tag. (Mean because eventually he would get carried away and try to eat my face off.) He was very photogenic. See also: this. This one’s good, too. Aw, ok, last one, I promise.

An interesting thing about having a Peteless household is that Lulu, who was the butt of all of Pete’s jokes, is shedding less. Is that weird, or what? Apparently Lulu was constantly in a state of distress and would shed whole chihuahuas’ worth of fur just walking though the room.

Another interesting thing is that the other cats now have a chance to hang out inside without fear of getting their asses kicked, and it turns out that the other cats are incredibly boring. They just eat and sleep. They don’t do anything exciting. You know how some girls like guys who treat them poorly, ignoring the nice guys who only want to love them and curl up beside them, purring heavily? I am like that with cats. I liked my bad cat. My relationship with him was exciting. What will he do today? Will he be nice or will I find poop in my bed? He was an unpredictable, hilarious, horrible cat. And I miss him.

6 Responses to “Au Revoir, Pierre Tout-Tout.”

  1. Liz said:

    Aw, I’m sorry. It sucks to lose a cat and of course you loved him even though he was a jerk. It will be fun to get to tell Spike all about him when he’s older.

  2. poobou said:

    I for one would never tell you what to do with your own cat. I’m very sorry for all of you, and for Pete.

  3. Elizabeth said:

    Sorry for the loss of Pete. I will miss your stories about him, although this post caused me to squirt diet coke out of my nose.

  4. Mix said:

    I will not forget Pete-Pete! He was good for a story. But bad for my leg. I do love that I got to see him maiming the doll heads from your craft drawer. Let us all raise our paws to him!

  5. gclark said:

    sorry to hear about ol’ pete. those pictures are a great legacy. he was lucky to have a home where someone would put up with his shit (literally!) for as long as you did.

  6. Ruby said:

    Sorry to hear about Pete. I have a similar issue with devilcat Isabel. She’s old, probably deaf, and mean as hell to everyone but children (seriously, she’s let three year olds carry her around by the loose fur around her belly, but if I try and pet her, it’s face clawin’ time).

    I am fortunate she’s never used poop as a weapon, but she is a big fan of urinating on my faintsy dishwasher. I don’t know what her beef is with that dishwasher, but she sure likes to pee on it. She is also fond of shredding my very nice antique silk lampshades from the inside. And killing baby bunnies.

    Sounds like she and Pete are from the same school of feline insanity. I’m trying to find a nice barn for her to grow old in, but I have a feeling that won’t work out well for her. Hugs to you and Larry; while it is sad, I recall something my brother said after his insane fiance left him: “I didn’t realize how hard it was to love her. I feel so much better now.” I hope your family is at peace now.