A Tribute to Cody Cat

I had hoped I would never have to write this. I’ve used this website to write satirical, exaggerated articles to keep my writing skills sharp. Ideally, I wanted to avoid any personal information. But Cody is an exception to all of that. If anyone deserved a post in his honor, it was him.

On Thursday night, Cody passed away after a long battle with cancer. He was diagnosed at the beginning of December and given some grim timetables. Cody outperformed every expectation, leaving the vet to call him a miracle cat. Despite how much weight he lost fighting the disease, he never lost his personality or spirit. Even on his last day, he ate well, and remained affectionate. He did not suffer, and as far as we all could tell, wasn’t in pain.

The outpouring of support has been overwhelming, but honestly, not surprising. Most comments we received have mentioned how memorable Cody was. I think that’s significant. Most pets will leave a huge, lasting impact on their parents. It takes a special animal to stand out to so many people. As usual, Cody is the exception, not the rule.

I don’t want to talk much about the last few months of Cody’s life, as that’s not who he was or how he should be remembered. Cody should be celebrated; I think that’s what he would have wanted. And trust me, there’s a lot to be celebrated. No animal I’ve known has had a personality quite like Cody.

Adventurous

Cody did not have any fear in him. Whenever he could, he tried to explore new places, both inside and outside of the house. His most famous adventure was getting on the roof at Megan’s parent’s house. He jumped up there through an open window and had a great time. I wasn’t there for it, but I can imagine Cody’s annoyance at being carried back inside by Megan’s brother.

In our apartment, Cody never reached heights as high as the roof, but he did venture into every nook and cranny he could find. He liked being as high as possible, no matter how many risky jumps it took. On multiple occasions, he walked across the headboard of our bed to jump to the top of Megan’s armoire. This was about eight feet high, and the only “safe” landing was for Cody to jump directly on the bed. Usually, this meant landing on one of us at 3 AM.

Cody had a fascination with leaving the apartment and checking out the remaining building. He never failed to greet either Megan or myself when we came home, but he also never failed to see if the door was ajar. Many a night was spent trying to corral Cody back into the apartment from the stairs, or even the basement. He wasn’t trying to run away; he just wanted to explore everything around him. Cody always came back, although occasionally, he was bribed home with treats.

My favorite Cody escape story was when Megan was staying home from work with a cold. I had run down to the basement to grab a shirt, and did not close our front door all the way. As I got ready to leave, I couldn’t find Cody. From the bedroom, Megan asked “Everything ok?” I lied through my teeth and said yes, preparing to look for Cody and leave late for work.

As soon as I went to open the door, there was Cody, who timed everything perfectly. He was walking up the last stair and went through the door just as I opened it. Basically, I was the doorman for the cat, coming home from a long night out of the town (Ok, he was outside the apartment for five minutes, but the idea is the same). I gave him some pets, and a few treats to not tell his mother what happened, and left for work on time.

Playful

While I don’t think he ever acted like a dog, Cody was more playful then most cats. His favorite all purpose toys were bottle caps and zip ties. At any moment, Cody would run into a room, batting one of these objects like he was working on his crossover. It was a rapid fire, high energy burst, and then it ended abruptly. Just when you thought it was over, Cody got the urge for round two, and the bottle cap was gliding across the floor.

Cody loved boxes. If an empty box was left on the floor for even a moment, Cody claimed it. Once he sat in the box, it was his property, and it remained in the house for weeks, if not months. It didn’t matter how small it was, Cody would fit in the box and use it as his bed. Meanwhile his real, comfortable bed went unused as Cody slept, wrapped like a croissant, in flimsy cardboard. He used these boxes to store his bottle caps. In many ways, it was like a teenager hiding contraband from his parents.

He also loved knocking things off of tables. I’m not sure why he did, but he loved it. Cody would see an object lying close to the edge, and methodically drop it off. He’d look at either Megan or myself while he did it too. I cracked up every single time. I don’t think this was appropriate parenting, but what I can say? It was hilarious. Cody never knocked over anything breakable or dangerous. I think he knew exactly what he was doing – establishing dominance.

Flair for Dramatics

If animals could win acting awards, Cody would have swept the podium. He loved to ham it up whenever he could. Most often, this was how the day started. Every day, when I woke up to feed Cody breakfast, he would stop what he was doing and flop on the floor. He rolled around in every direction, making sure I paid attention. I assume he thought by looking cute, he’d get more food.

He was 100% correct. Nobody has ever over poured cat food more than me. Don’t worry though, we watched what he ate. Cody was a master of portion control as well, rarely overindulging. I wish I could stay the same.

He acted the same way whenever guests came over. At first, he would hide when strangers appeared, especially if it was a larger group. After a bit, he would join in the festivities and want to be the center of attention. It wasn’t long after he start getting pets that he would flop around, as if he didn’t get enough attention from his parents. A few, blessed individuals were even allowed to rub his belly. That was the ultimate sign of respect.

Of course, not all of Cody’s dramatics were for food. He also loved, and I mean loved, scaring me half to death. This happened multiple times a week, and I know he thought it was hilarious. The most common tactic was when Cody jumped from his cat tree onto the couch. My typical seat on the couch was right next to the tree. He would land with a slight thud and scare the ever loving crap out of me. After my heart returned to my chest, it was pretty funny.

Part of this is on me. There were times I watched him jump up in the cat tree. Hell, there were times I watched him jump out of the cat tree and he still scared me. Maybe I have the flair for dramatics too.

His best scare, in my opinion, happened on a lazy weekend day. I was looking for Cody and couldn’t find him. After checking each room, I thought he might have left the apartment, but didn’t find him in the hallway or basement. As I began to get worried, our towel closet, located in the kitchen, threw itself open. Out walked Cody, fresh from a nap among freshly washed towels. He walked by me without a word, and ate some food. I’m not sure any moment sums him up better.

His Command of the Room

Sometimes, cats are labeled as loners, a stereotype that they don’t really care about their parents. Cody did some things on his own of course, but the stereotype definitely didn’t fit him. He was out every morning, flopping for extra food. After the morning performance, he would race to the bathroom, always directly underfoot, for sink water. Cody nearly killed me multiple times a day racing to the bathroom for a drink.

Cody had a water bowl that was filled everyday with fresh, clean water. Most days, it stayed untouched, serving more as decoration. Like plenty of men, Cody preferred his drinks straight from the tap. No trip to the bathroom was complete without Cody joining to wet his whistle. Even the way he drank the water was unique. Sometimes he drank it directly from the stream. Other times, he stuck his paw in the stream, and drank the drips from it. Why did it do that? I don’t think even Cody knew.

Cody was always with us. When we sat on the couch to watch TV or eat dinner, he quickly joined in. Often he would reach out to one of us with his paw to remind us he was there, and that he was available for pets. If he left the couch, it was only to get a better seat in his cat tree or box. After a long day of work, it was rare he hung out in a room without one of us. He wanted to make up for lost time.

Even sleeping was a family activity. Cody usually slept on the bed. Sometimes it was directly on Megan’s head. Other times it was in the nook between us where I had all of Cody’s butt directly in my face. Occasionally, he slept at the foot of the bed, like other animals, but that was rare. He was there at the start and the end of the day. It wasn’t attention seeking. He just wanted to be with his family.

One More Story

There’s one more important story involving Cody. I don’t particularly like telling it, but it explains why Cody meant so much to so many people. It’s more of a story about me, but it describes Cody to a T.

At the end of 2018 through April of 2019, I started getting very sick. It took months of going to doctors and having various tests ran to find out what I had. I was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease that acts like a respiratory illness. Makes sense why it was so hard to get diagnosed. If left unchecked, it could attack other organs, and leave some serious damage.

Over those six months, I went from having clogged ears to barely being able to hear. I ran out of breathe after a few consecutive steps, and my body ached whenever I moved. My energy was zapped; I was exhausted all the time. By April, I had lost 30 pounds and felt it.

When I finally knew what disease I had, it took time to get appointments with the appropriate doctors. I stupidly researched the disease and read horror stories. The worst being that according to multiple studies, the average person with these disease had a 20% survival rate.

Spoiler alert: I did survive. As I later learned, there was a verified, effective treatment for what I had. The disease was so rare, most of the available information on-line was outdated. But even with this guaranteed treatment, it wasn’t easy. I had to get constant blood tests, take heavy dozes of steroids and couldn’t leave the house for a seven week period due to my immune system. It’s ironic – seven weeks now seems like no big deal after Covid. At the time, it was daunting.

I had plenty of people who supported me through this, but nobody could be with me 24/7. Nobody, except Cody. At my lowest point, Cody was glued to me; he knew something was wrong and wanted to help any way he could.

From the moment I woke up, Cody was there to greet me as I fed him and gave him sink water. Throughout the day, whether I was working or off, he hung out near me. Cody only left me to get get something to eat and always returned within an arm length of me. If I needed a break and lied down on the couch or bed, he followed and hopped in the crook of my arm. I even caught him at the foot of the back bedroom bed when I was sleeping, like a loving parent checking on their sick child.

Before this, Cody and I had a strong bond. But during this time, I realized how important he was. Cody never had to accept me into his life. Instead, he spend every waking hour making sure I was ok and being was there for me. It was pure, unconditional love. I truly don’t know if I would have made it through that without him.

18 months later, the roles were reversed, as Megan and I did everything we could to encourage him to eat and support him as best we could. For me, I think this might be the hardest part in his passing. Cody helped me when I felt the worst in my life, and I got through it. When Cody went through his illness, I tried to be there as much as I could, but his ailment was so cruel. We had different diseases and were at different points in our lives, but that part still cuts through me.

I wish I had gotten more time with Cody. A little under five years seems far too short, but I couldn’t have asked for better times with a better cat. We went from strangers to full blooded family in such a short time. Truthfully, I don’t want to stop typing. I want to keep reminiscing. Even in text, it’s tough to say goodbye to him.

I don’t know what the afterlife is like, but I know Cody is at peace, happy, and no longer dealing with a cancerous mass. He’s with his older siblings Milo and Mittens, fondly discussing their adventures. God knows they all had a million of them. From some perch, much higher up than what’s safe, he’ll watch over us, never truly gone and never forgotten.

Rest in Peace Cody.