Mrs. Anymouse picked up Felix Strangelet Randomkitty from a farming couple selling eggs in a smoke shop parking lot, when we lived in Oklahoma in 2009. Buy eggs, get a free kitten. Felix, as she describes him, is “a purebred barn cat.”

Felix came home to a house with an oversized border collie named Billy that Felix promptly enslaved, a guinea pig named Redbeard he used as a body pillow to keep warm, and an elderly cat named Igor. Igor took Felix under his wing: He showed him how to catch mice, wrestle chicken from humans, and rule over a household.

Felix grew from a tiny kitten to a twenty-three pound monster of a cat. He did not lose his sense of kittenhood until the very end of his life, earning him the nickname “Dangerkitty.” No laser pointer beam was safe. No one’s leg was safe from use as a scratching post.

Mice became an extinct species in our Nebraska home; Igor, a former street cat, taught him well: Don’t play with mice, as they can get away. If Felix got a paw on a mouse, it would disappear within a second.

Felix enjoyed playing with small orange plastic balls, until one time mistaking a habañero pepper for one. Stuck to his claws in the middle of the night, Felix screamed when he tried to bite the pepper to pull it off his claws. He spent a few days in hiding after that incident, and would never play with an orange ball again.

Like most cats, Felix spent most of his time sleeping, choosing to sleep under the covers of our bed.

Felix would also sit in our home’s south window when the church bell across the street rang, trying to terrorise churchgoers simply with his size.

To those that came by our house to visit, Felix was most friendly. To those he ruled over, it was his way or the scratching post.

Felix had games he liked to play with people, and each game was different: Whether Mrs. Anymouse, her brother, our neighbours, or me, he had a particular physical game he would insist on playing with each.

Felix could also read: He had a particular affinity for Orange Crush boxes. He learned an empty Crush box was meant to be crushed after he’d spent time fitting himself into it (not an easy task for a twenty-three pound cat—he also mastered multi-dimensional space).

Toward the end of 2016, Felix started losing weight and became ill. After a number of tests, Dr. Kimberly Walker at Pioneer Animal Clinic in Scottsbluff determined he was suffering from diabetes. Felix went on Prozinc (an extended-release injection product) and specialised cat food to try to bring his condition under control, which worked for a time. Felix perked back up and would beg for his insulin shot every day if it was forgotten.

On Good Friday, Felix suddenly became very ill, unable to walk correctly and going off his food. Due to Easter weekend, we were unable to take him to the veterinarian until the following Monday, where he was admitted to kitty hospital.

A specialist veterinarian was brought in on his case, and an ultrasound revealed his pancreas was extremely swollen. Felix was also exhibiting the symptoms of fatty liver syndrome. A medical course of action was undertaken to bring down the swelling with antibiotics, and flush excess glucose with intravenous fluids. He was started on regular insulin to try to bring his off-the-scale glucose count under control. As he was off his food, Dr. Walker’s staff hand-fed Felix.

With each intervention, Felix would seem to improve, sometimes walking around or trying to eat, then his condition would collapse again. He continued to lose weight as no intervention seemed to help more than a day or two.

Dr. Walker’s office called yesterday with the information that it seemed medical intervention had failed to reverse his condition. She was of the opinion that if he only suffered from one of the conditions he developed, he would likely overcome it. The combination of all three was too much for Felix.

Late this afternoon Mrs. Anymouse and I drove through the snow to Dr. Walker’s office for the last time, to visit with Felix. Dr. Walker and her staff left us with Felix in a room for about an hour, and at 4:20 Dr. Walker gave him his final injection. Felix died with us petting and talking to him.

The drive home from Scottsbluff was wind-driven snow and silence for sixty miles, NPR’s “All Things Considered” playing. Somehow the news of the day did not seem to penetrate: For the first time since Mrs. Anymouse was a teenager, and for me since I met Mrs. Anymouse, there is no animal family member around the house to cuddle, to play, or to sharpen claws using our legs. It will be a quiet and sombre night at Chez Tumbleweed. Felix will be missed. His ashes will be scattered on Dr. Walker’s ranch near Alliance.

In the final mile driving home, Mrs. Anymouse noted calves playing in a pasture—she said that helped a little bit, signs of new life and life going on despite our sorrows.

We want to thank Dr. Walker and the entire staff of Pioneer Animal Clinic in Scottsbluff for their efforts and care on behalf of Felix Randomkitty. Throughout the entire ordeal they were kind, considerate, understanding, and caring.

Mrs. Anymouse and me with Felix for our last time together.