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Front Porch: Thor’s final days a lesson in listening
![Thor enjoys one last leashed visit to the backyard. (Cindy Hval/For The Spokesman-Review)](https://thumb.spokesman.com/mpqZlpWb036s4_co7mu4maFpgUU=/1200x800/smart/media.spokesman.com/photos/2024/07/02/6682e40de9e7e.hires.jpg)
On May 30, we found out our beloved cat Thor had a nonoperable tumor, and his nine lives were about to run out.
When I shared the news in a previous column and on social media, people responded with great compassion. Many wrote that they had enjoyed my accounts of his adventures over the years and felt like they knew him. Others shared their heartbreaking stories of pet loss. Each missive provided connection and comfort.
What I’ve learned over the past month is this – despite their solitary, independent nature, cats absolutely do communicate with their humans. In his last two weeks, Thor let us know exactly what he wanted.
Moist deli-roasted chicken breast?
Yes, please.
Canned cat food?
No, thank you.
Tender smoked turkey breast?
More, please.
A once-favored kibble?
Nope.
Special cat treats from Trader Joe’s?
Yum!
Loving words and soft pats from me and Derek?
Aaaaah.
A comfy spot on a soft blanket on the foot or our bed?
Purrrr …
He was equally clear about activities.
The slick Houdini, who often bolted through every open door, enjoyed one last warm evening in the backyard. Cat harness and leash attached, he basked in the sun, rolling over and over in the comforting grass. He nibbled on a blade or two, but he mainly just soaked up the rays that bathed his suddenly fragile bones.
But when next we tried to take him outdoors, he sat by the back door and refused to budge. Derek carried him out to the yard, but Thor declined to wander.
Derek carried him back to the deck and removed the leash. Thor went straight to the door and asked to go inside.
I suspect he felt his frailty and knew the wild outdoors was no longer safe for his ailing body.
What do you say when there are no words?
Taking a note from Thor’s book, we showed him how we felt. We held him. We stroked his once lush, now straggly fur. We looked into his eyes and slowly blinked.
And when he hid under our bed, we listened. We understood he was saying, no more, please.
Even rambunctious Walter heard the message. Our junior tabby usually delights in pouncing on an unsuspecting Thor, but he seemed to understand that pouncing was out. Instead, he scooted under the bed and crouched next to Thor in silent solidarity.
A short time later, Thor took refuge beneath the dining room table. Derek didn’t try to coax him out. Instead, he stretched his 6-foot-2 frame beside him on the floor.
Thor mewed.
“I know, buddy,” Derek replied, tears coursing down his cheeks. “It’s time.”
I called the vet to schedule Thor’s last visit for later that afternoon. As I ended the call, thunder cracked, and a heavy rain fell. A fitting finale for a cat named for the god of thunder.
When I pulled into the driveway after work, he was perched on Sam’s windowsill, watching – waiting for me to come home. As sick as he was, he still managed to climb up to his favorite lookout on the window ledge.
Out of habit, I quickly shut the door behind me lest he make a run for it. But his sprinting days were done. Instead, Thor waited for me to pick him up at the entryway.
There would be no dreaded cat carrier for this trip. I wrapped his frail frame in an old beach towel and carried him to the car.
His ears perked, and his nose wiggled as he sniffed the rain-scented air. As we drove, he tucked his head under my chin, his eyes wide while he watched the passing scenery.
We kept our promise. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes for the last time was the faces of the people who loved him.
When we left the vet’s office, Derek silently pointed to a rainbow shimmering across the horizon. It seemed the heavens offered Rainbow Bridge just for Thor.
Oh, yes, cats communicate with their people.
And it’s important to listen – even when they say things we don’t want to hear.
Things like goodbye.
RIP Thor Heyerdahl Hval, Feb. 5, 2011, to June 18, 2024.
Cindy Hval can be reached at dchval@juno.com. Hval is the author of “War Bonds: Love Stories from the Greatest Generation” (Casemate Publishers, 2015) available at Auntie’s Bookstore and bookstores nationwide.