Bill Haverchuck, The Toughest Cat to Ever Live

Tomorrow we have to say goodbye to Bill Haverchuck, the three legged gremlin that has been one of the most important parts of our lives for the past 13 years. Amy and I adopted Haverchuck and his late sister Leela from the Upper East Side SPCA in 2011, after moving into our first post law school apartment in Inwood and shortly before getting married. When we arrived, the only kitten they had was Coyote, a three-month old who had just recovered from surgery to remove his right rear leg, which he had shattered in either a fall or a collision with a car, they weren’t sure which. Coyote either didn’t know or didn’t care that he was down a limb, the way he raced around the room he was placed in with us. We quickly decided that Coyote was coming home with us, and soon he was joined by Sasha, a Calico who was brought back from an adoption event while we were there and had been returned by some dumbass family to spare the feelings of their dog. Their loss. 

Sasha quickly became Leela, since Amy loves Futurama, and I named Coyote after my favorite television character of all time, Bill Haverchuck. Over time we realized that our gendered choices had backfired, because while Leela was our cat, she decided I was her human, and Haverchuck was very much Amy’s cat. In fact, for the first several years of our time with Haverchuck I at best tolerated him and often wanted to make him somebody else’s problem. Haverchuck was a dick. He fought with Leela constantly and chased her around the apartment, pinning her down when she wasn’t able to use her leaping ability to avoid Mr. Oh I can’t jump because I’m missing a leg. This wasn’t a short-term thing either. Haverchuck NEVER got along with Leela, fighting with her from apartment to apartment until we bought a house upstate during COVID to get us out of our 300 square foot spot in South Slope. Leela was never aggressive towards him, but along the way she devised ways to get back at him, like pooping in the shower because it was one of his favorite places to lay down. That it was more of an inconvenience for us than it was for him was beside the point. Incidentally, it tracks a little too well that the passive aggressive cat bonded with me. 

Haverchuck adapted so well to missing a limb that we didn’t start to notice the problems accompanying aging until much later than they likely began occurring. We started him on joint supplements as a kitten but otherwise just let him do him. Living in small apartments until he was well into cat middle age probably played a part as well in hiding some of the issues that were developing. 

While Leela was clearly passive aggressive, when it came to expressing his problems Haverchuck is more of a stoic. He is a master of adapting. He collected maladies as he aged- wrinkled ear from an ear infection, huge bald spot on his side from an unknown bite that triggered a syndrome that required twice daily steroid doses to keep him from wasting away- and just appeared to roll with the punches, or transfer the punches to Leela.

Two things happened that changed matters. The first was the wasting disease. The problem was that the vet in Park Slope misdiagnosed it as fleas (in retrospect I hate that vet office for a number of reasons, but nearly killing our cat is a top one) so he just kept getting worse- open wound on his side from excessive licking, shedding weight- and they did nothing useful. Luckily when we moved upstate the vet we chose turned out to be a very good one, and he quickly diagnosed the problem and prescribed Haverchuck the steroids that have permitted him to live to today rather than dying in 2021, something I was sure was going to happen when he was 7 pounds and cowering in our en-suite shower. Getting sick made Haverchuck rely on us a lot more, and in having to do so it softened him. 

The second thing that happened was Leela died. We planned a trip to Chicago for my 41st birthday, and when we got back she wasn’t eating. I took her in and found out that she had advanced cancer, and fluid had filled her insides. She was starving to death, so within days we had to have her euthanized. Even in death Leela was the good cat, saving us the decision we had to make with Haverchuck.

WIth Leela gone, Haverhuck assumed the role of emotional support animal for both of us, and he took to it well. He started to approximate what he understood to be affection, and while he’s always sort of been a funny little guy, he let his quirky old man flag fly. He’s been a wonderful companion to us the past three years, and got to experience things in this craphole full of hicks of an exurb that he couldn’t do in the city, like have a fire and sit with us on the deck. 

I described Haverchuck as a stoic earlier, and I understand that he is the way that he is because it’s a self-preservation method. As a tripod, he sees himself as a target, and doesn’t want to show weakness that predators could take advantage of. He’s the toughest cat that I’ve ever encountered, but unfortunately his body is failing him now. The remaining back leg is barely functional and the pain is overwhelming him, to the point where he can hardly walk at all. But he’s still trying to do it. He drags his body across the room to the litter box and sits in it, resting while he gathers the strength to use it. He sits in front of chairs that he would clamor into as recently as six months ago and cries to be placed, then cries if the way we pick him up is too much for him. 

A quick tip: if you can afford it, Solensia is a miracle drug for cats with arthritis. Thanks to Solensia, his last six months have been as good as they could possibly be given the circumstances.

The problem that we’ve been wrestling with is that Haverchuck’s insides are fine. All of his organs are working the way they should be, his appetite is still good, he’s making an attempt to use the litter box regularly. He’s still tough, and still putting on a brave face, but merely existing is painful. And watching it happen without ending that pain is sadistic and cruel. But I still feel like shit. 

He’s our baby boy. We spent 2020-2021 in a small apartment only interacting with him and his sister, then moved away from all of our friends to a place where now it’s just Amy, Haverchuck, and me. We depend on him in ways that we don’t even realize. He’s our best friend, and it’s really hard not to feel like we’re just getting rid of him. 

For a 44 year old, I’ve been extremely lucky when it comes to dealing with grief. Two grandparents passed before I was born, and apart from losing the other two, there haven’t been a lot of deaths in my family. That plus a heaping helping of arrested development means I suck at dealing with death. I’ve decided that I’m okay with that. I’d rather be on the verge of blubbering like I’ve been the last two weeks and right now than not have a strong reaction. He’s still here for today, but the loss I’m feeling should be commensurate with the impact he’s had on our lives, it’s what he deserves. So I’m glad that there are big sloppy tears running down my cheeks right now while I type this instead of monitoring my work email and my beautiful little boy is curled up on the couch next to me. At least the tears are acknowledging the impact he made. Haverchuck was a dick. He still can be. But he’s also our sweet boy, and I love him more than pretty much anything. 

I wanted to write this as an appreciation while he’s still here. He’s going to have a good day today. The best one we can give him. I don’t really have an ending here so instead I’m just going to list some things he does that melt my heart every day. 

-He tries to scratch his ear with his phantom limb. He’ll be laying there and suddenly tilt his head and you see his joint twitching like crazy.

-One year after Halloween Amy gave him the tail that was part of her costume, and he started killing it and carrying it around the apartment, then yelling for a reward. This continued with a stuffed squirrel my mom gave him, and continues to this day with a mouse pillow that he latches onto and yowls until you pet him or give him a treat. 

-When he was in a shirt all the time before the wound on his side fully healed he looked like an adorable little sausage.

We don’t deserve pets. Treat yours like they should be treated.