The Best Worst Cat

My son, Calcifer, and me

Don’t be fooled by those deliciously fluffy cheeks and big eyes. Calcifer is capital T Trouble.

Calcifer: The Best Worst Cat

The Sad Part

A month into the pandemic, my cat Ralph died. He was not yet seven, and riddled with an aggressive and rare form of cancer. When it was time to day good-bye, I hardly recognized him. He was skeletal, and uninterested in his surroundings - completely unlike the curious, loud and rather cherubic cat I had raised from kittenhood. 

When I’d adopted him, I promised myself I would try to not love him too much because parting would be all the more terrible if I loved him more than strictly necessary. Obviously, I did not adhere to this resolution. At all.

I cried for days after, and clung to his littermate, Lily, for comfort. Even though I had had to make the decision to euthanize a sick cat several years before, the pain felt brand-new. It hurt just as much the second time as it did the first.

Several months, a move, a break-up, and a new job later…

After obsessively checking PetFinder, I found a kitten I could not not adopt. I applied for the chubby cheeked kitten and got approved. In a rush, I bought him all of the things he’d need and made his picture my wallpaper. 

I adopted Calcifer on Halloween. He’s named after a fire demon voiced by Billy Crystal in Howl’s Moving Castle, a Studio Ghibli film based on a book by Diana Wynne Jones.

Calcifer in 2022. He has since attempted to eat the basket.

Calcifer was crazy in the way most kittens are, but tenfold. He tried to eat anything he could even remotely fit in his mouth: the TubShroom, a (clean) menstrual cup I left on the bathroom counter, zippers, buttons, any form of money, mail, my hand. 

As a kitten, he would roam around the apartment at night meowing because Lily and I were “being boring” by trying to go to sleep. Baby demon Calcifer pawed at my glasses and chewed on the corners of the hard plastic for fun.

Calcifer sitting in “his” chair at the kitchen table

As a kitten, Calcifer would roll in the spare bits of litter he left on the bathroom floor, completely blissed out and oblivious to the filth he’d created. He was less pleased when he found himself in the bathtub.

He has long exhibited a snakelike ability in which he practically unhinges his jaw to swallow large chunks of food. It’s fascinating to watch.

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Upon his first trip to the vet, the vet tech asked me how he was doing.

I told her, “Medically, he’s fine. Mentally, that’s not a normal cat. He must have a secret stash of kitty cocaine or something.”

The vet tech nodded and said something along the lines of, “And how has he been eating?”

To which I replied, “Like he’s never seen food before! He’s trying to eat us out of house and home.”

The vet tech proceeded to gently ask if I had any experience with kittens (I did). She claimed he was behaving like a normal kitten (lies), and that was when I knew Calcifer was playing that vet tech like a fiddle.

Score: Calcifer the gaslighter 1, Erin 0.

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Present Day

When I catch him in yet another act of chaos he looks at me with wide, startled eyes and I sigh. We both know there will be little to no consequences for his actions. He carries on with his latest scheme undaunted by witnesses.

Life goes on. He figures out how to open cabinets and I order child locks.

Every day is another adventure with Calcifer. To him, the world is a magical, interactive puzzle and I am the humongous buzzkill who feeds, bathes, and plays with him.

I frequently remind Calcifer he’s lucky he’s beautiful

I know he will grow old one day (if time allows) and he will need to cross that mythical rainbow bridge. When this day comes, I will sit with him sobbing like it’s my first heartbreak. I will cry until I physically cannot cry anymore. I will wake up and remember and cry and I will fall asleep crying. Everything I consume will be flavored with tears.

And then, despite all of the chewed up toys and scratched up furniture, I will elevate him to sainthood. I will canonize him. I will love him in death as deeply as I did in life. Because that is the only way I know how to love. 

It goes without saying Calcifer is a sassy boy

But today we are young. We play and he bites toes and runs through the comforter like it’s his personal cloud. He comes running anytime I’m in the kitchen to beg for treats. He tackles Lily, and growls at people through the window. He breaks things and I replace them. I complain about him to anyone who will listen. We snuggle and go on walks outside. I pet him and he tries to pet me back.

Today, we are together and the future is far away. 

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Conversations with Calcifer

A year in the pandemic, my dignity disappeared and I fully leaned into my identity as a Cat Lady. My cats have long existed both as a) literal cats and b) fully developed characters.

Sometimes I converse with my cats when we’re alone, because a combination of quarantine, the pandemic, and working from home did funny things to my social skills.

Here is one of the conversations I’ve had with Calcifer recently:

Calcifer glaring at me, because who I am to disturb his slumber?

Me: Calcifer! How do I feel about you being on the counter?!

Calcifer: You don’t fuckin’ like it.

M: And how do I feel about you SWEARING?!

C: You don’t fuckin’ like it…

M: *face palm*

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Until next time,

Erin

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