February 8, 2025

Rest In Peace Beastmode

A tribute to my furry companion of twelve years.

I wasn't thrilled with the idea of getting a kitten back in 2012, just two months after becoming a homeowner. While it wasn't my idea, I did have some influence on the decision-making process. There were only two kittens on display at the pet store a week before Christmas. One sat quietly in the corner, while the other loudly meowed as he tried to escape.

"Let's get the active one!" I said.

If you're ever in this position and you want a peaceful relationship with your cat, I would suggest choosing the quiet one. But I would never change my decision. If I could go back in time, I would take both of them, as I'm sure their existence together would have been better.

While brainstorming names for this cute little kitten, I quickly arrived on "Beastmode". The name fit. It was an homage to Marshawn Lynch, my favorite Seahawk (I was at the stadium in 2011 for the Beast Quake).

When "Beastmode?" was called out at the veterinarian's office, I would sheepishly raise my hand. And I always felt a little silly yelling "Come here Beast!" out the back door. Mostly he went by "Beast" and occasionally "Beastie Boy."

I only made him wear this jersey briefly. He wasn't a fan!

I took over sole custody in 2013, and it was just the two of us after that.

He would not be kept indoors and was outside at all hours. I always worried about him crossing the street. A few times in his early years he didn't come home before I went to bed. He would show up between 4 and 8 a.m., meowing loudly and making a racket by climbing the screen door. It will always be a mystery where he went. Was he stuck in someone's garage? Did someone let him in their house—until they realized he was crazy? He made me worry all the time, but he always found his way back.

When he wasn't outside hunting, he loved to play indoors. He was easily entertained by wadded-up aluminum foil balls, soda bottle lids, paper bags and cardboard boxes. He was always getting into trouble.

When he was ten months old, I went on a weekend backpacking trip and my mom watched Beast. During the hike back to the truck, I received some text messages, including one from my mom that said Beast had spent a night stuck in a neighbor's tree. I still had four miles to hike followed by a four hour drive home. By the time I got there it was dark and too late to disturb the neighbors. From my backyard, we could hear him meowing from the top of the giant maple tree.

The next morning, I called to him from my backyard, hoping he would climb down the trunk. Instead, he crawled out a long branch towards me, some thirty feet off the ground, until the branch was barely an inch in diameter! I stopped calling, afraid he would fall, but somehow he managed to turn around and shimmy back up the branch.

I knocked on the neighbor's door and eventually a teenager answered. I explained the situation and he said it wasn't the first time a cat had been stuck up that tree. We went to their backyard.

The tree forked about ten feet up and the platform from an old tree house was still intact. I climbed up to the platform, and he handed me an extension ladder. With the extension ladder resting on the platform, I was able to climb another ten or twelve feet towards Beast, but he was still about eight feet higher.

"I've got an idea," the kid said. He came back with a milk crate, a long pole, and some rope. A few minutes later, the crate was affixed to one end of the pole. I climbed to the second to last rung, barely able to move for fear of the ladder slipping off the trunk. I held the pole as high as I could, and it was a couple feet short. But he went for it, stretching out his front legs as he slid into the crate. I thought I was going to fall off the ladder when his weight hit, but we survived.

Beast enjoyed his first meal in two days, and he never went up that tree again.

I worked from home most of the time and had a lot of conference calls. In the summer I frequently left the back door open, so he could come and go without causing interruptions. One day on a long call I kept hearing a squeak in the living room. I assumed it was Beast playing with his toy mouse, but when the call finally ended, I walked out of my office to find a bird in my living room. That was the end of our "open door" arrangement.

I am glad we lived in a cat-friendly neighborhood, but Beast was not very amicable to other cats, and ferociously guarded our yard. One friendly tabby I nicknamed "White Sox" came around frequently. I made the mistake of letting Beast out once while the tabby was on the porch. Beast smacked him so hard that he fell off the ledge above the stairwell to my basement. That poor cat definitely used one of his nine lives, but emerged unscathed. He sprinted up the stairs and across the yard with Beast on his tail.

Beast loved his evening cuddles. If I was still on my office computer after 6 p.m., he would sit in the doorway and meow. He'd lead me into the living room and wait for me to sit down and put my feet up. He loved to stretch out between my legs for long movies.

When he turned eleven, I staged a birthday photo shoot. He got a little excited when the candles were lit, spun around, and his fluffy tail grazed the flame. Sparks flew and I quickly grasped his tail to extinguish the fire. It happened so fast that he never realized that his tail was on fire.

Beast loved his extended family (his grandma in particular) and all the friends who visited or fed him while I was away on adventures. He loved sunny days, particular the hot ones, and he would disappear for hours. He would go crazy with excitement if you said "Do you wants some treats?"

I loved his green eyes and little fangs. I loved his thick coat, and how it filled out in the winter. I loved the speed at which he ran across the yard to the back door when he heard me open it. The way he weaved down the hallway, rubbing against the left wall, then the right wall—when he knew I was following. I loved how excited he was when I returned from a weekend trip. I loved his feisty attitude when he wasn't happy.

In the fall of 2024, he started to have some issues. He improved for a few weeks after the veterinarian gave him a steroid shot and antibiotics, but started losing weight again. I took him to the fanciest hospital in Tacoma. After x-rays and blood work turned up nothing, they asked if they could do an ultrasound. That's how they found the tumor in his intestine, which was "most likely" cancerous.

I stayed close to home for the next few months and we enjoyed our time together. He accepted that his days of prowling the neighborhood were over. We watched all the movies. I skipped the family Christmas trip to stay home, and we watched all the Christmas movies. A movie every night. Even a few cat movies: Flow, The Aristocats, Puss in Boots. I'll be honest, he fell asleep, but I watched them anyways.

He woke me up every morning between 2 and 4 a.m. for a meal. I'd go back to sleep until he woke me up again between 6 and 7. He would only stop meowing when I sat next to him by the living room window, and we'd watch the sunrise.

On our last day together, we dined on elk tenderloin. He managed to swallow a few morsels. I am grateful that he had a belly full of elk meat for his next journey.

I knew it was time for him to go. I thought I had prepared myself for his departure, but I know now that I could never have been ready.

The next morning, I awoke early as he had trained me. I made a cup of coffee, opened the blinds, and sat in the chair next to his empty cat tower. It was foggy, dull, glum. My cup of coffee was almost gone when the sun finally burst through the gray in magnificent fashion.