Tag: Thor

Columns

Thor’s final days a lesson in listening

Cindy Hval

n 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 final 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.

Columns

Thor’s Last Adventure

Cindy Hval

When it came right down to it, the choice between another kid or another cat proved easy for my husband.

It was 2011, and we’d just watched the movie “Thor.” Though I’m not a big Marvel Universe fan, I was enamored with the film and the title character.

“We have four sons, and not one of them named Thor,” I said after viewing the film. “We either need a second cat or a fifth son.”

A week later, we were at PetSmart looking at a batch of adoptable kitties. Three brothers frolicking in their cage caught my attention. Well, two of them frolicked – the third watched his brothers from afar. The litter had been abandoned by the side of a road, and the Spokane Humane Society christened the kitten who’d caught my eye “Alex.”

Our second son, Alex, then 18, had recently flown the family nest. Though the hole in this mama’s heart and home was far larger than kitten size, the tabby with the grumpy face captivated me.

Thor’s Gotcha Day, 2011

The newly christened Thor Heyerdahl Hval joined our family. He immediately gravitated to our 3-year-old tuxedo cat, Milo James. The attraction was not mutual. After sulking beneath our bed for a few days, Milo adjusted to the newbie. They forged an uneasy alliance until Milo’s death six years ago.

A year passed before we felt ready to welcome another kitten to our home. We thought another cat would enliven Thor’s senior years. Well, Sir Walter Scott certainly enlivened everything around our house. Thor, however, has never been a fan of the junior kitty. Wary tolerance is about all he can muster.

For 13 years, Thor has exerted his unique influence on our family dynamic. The food-motivated tabby mastered the trick of rolling over at the cajoling (and treats) offered by our son, Alex.

Chopsticks proved too difficult to master, but he sure tried!

Thor also sits up for treats. In fact, he’d do anything for food except stay inside.

Though his default facial expression is one of perpetual grumpiness, he’s been the most agreeable, docile cat – unless the door is open. Then, all bets are off.

The lure of the wild calls to this indoor-only cat, and our family has spent many aggravating and anxious hours attempting to lure the adventuring Thor back home.

Last week, we got the heartbreaking news that his wild walkabouts and longsuffering endurance of Walter are coming to an end.

Several weeks ago, Thor began shunning wet food – a puzzling problem for our always-hungry boy. When he barely nibbled his dry kibble, I took him to our trusted veterinarian.

I dreaded the visit because I knew something was wrong – very wrong.

It turns out Thor has a large tumor on his abdomen.

“I’m so sorry,” said the vet. “There’s nothing we can do.”

My heart shattered as I gathered my sweet boy in my arms. His once hefty frame has dwindled from 13 pounds to a scant 10.

While science cannot mend him, love and medicine can make his last days easier.

I tempt his waning appetite with kibble and treats. I lure him to sustenance with bits of tuna, salmon and canned chicken. With Derek’s help, I administer steroids and opioids to ease his pain.

And we put his harness and leash on him and take him to the backyard to let him nibble grass and bask in the sun. At night, he curls up at our feet in our bed.

We are keenly aware that it will soon be time to help him on his way to his final rest.

Until then, Thor welcomes my kisses and tilts his head for chin scratches. I think he understands when I tell him how much I love him, and he trusts my promise that we will be with him for every moment of his last grand adventure.

Columns

Toddlers, Teens and Sir Walter Scott

Cindy Hval

Question: What do you get when you combine the terrible 2s of toddlerhood with the terrifying tenure of teenage years?

Answer: A kitten. Specifically, Sir Walter Scott.

I recently read this quote: “Dogs prepare you for babies, cats prepare you for teenagers,” and boy, is that true. At 4 1/2 months, our tabby is still more toddler than teen, but I swear he just rolled his eyes at me.

Since I sat down to write this column, Walter has knocked every pen off my desk, gotten stuck on top of the filing cabinet and waged war on his own tail.

I just heard a huge crash from Sam’s room, but at this rate I’ll never make deadline, so that investigation will have to wait. (And people say working from home must be so much easier.)

Walter is a whirlwind of energy and enthusiasm. He adores jumping, galloping, wrestling and exploring. Unfortunately, Thor, our middle-aged tabby, is often the focus of Walter’s enthusiasms.

Thor does not play.

He never has. He’s a strictly low-key, lounge-around-the-house lap cat. Unless there’s food involved, then he’s energetic, bordering on obnoxious. He is not amused or entertained by Walter, but the rest of us sure are.

Walter keeps a busy schedule. After our son feeds him an early-morning breakfast, he gallops to our bedroom to ensure I’m awake. Of course, I’m not. So he hops onto my chest and nudges my cheeks with his cold nose, and softly pats my eyes with his paws until I open them.

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Early morning wake up call.

I stagger to the kitchen, grab my coffee and the newspaper and return to bed, where Walter has thoughtfully kept my spot warm.

Here’s the sad part. Walter hates The Spokesman-Review. The minute I shake out the pages, he goes into attack mode. He slinks to the foot of the bed, wiggles his behind and leaps into the newspaper. If he can successfully grab a section from my hands, he’ll proceed to shred it with his tiny sharp teeth and claws.

This makes it difficult to read the paper and dangerous to drink my coffee.

Walter also has animosity for my cellphone. He’ll squirm between my phone and my face and smack it until I put it down.

Perhaps it’s not so much the paper and the phone but that they come between him and my undivided attention.

When he’s received his expected amount of adoration, he’s off to share the love with Thor.

As previously noted, Thor does not want the love.

Toddlers, teens and kittens all suffer from poor impulse control. How else to explain the 2-year-old touching a hot stove, the 13-year-old careening down a steep hill on his skateboard and Walter’s mistaken belief that Thor enjoys being ridden around the house like a pony.

Thor does not enjoy being used as a racehorse with a pint-sized jockey on his back. He has demonstrated his feelings repeatedly by hissing, growling and smacking Walter silly.

To Walter, it’s all part of the fun.

Toddlers, teens and kittens also have inflated beliefs about their own mortality. That’s why toddlers dart into traffic, teens text and drive, and kittens climb things like bookcases and entertainment cabinets. It’s also why parents and cat owners get gray hair.

I know Walter is edging toward his teens because he’s angling for more screen time. He enjoys watching football and soccer on television. Unfortunately, he prefers to be part of the action. He parks himself in front of the screen and tries to intercept the passes.

My husband prefers to watch sports sans kitten. He actually downloaded the Cat Alone app on his tablet so Walter can chase bugs and flies on the screen while Derek watches the game in peace.

There’s another troubling sign that Walter’s teen years are near. On Saturday morning, he was even more manic than usual. He could not seem to settle down.

Then Derek discovered a small baggie behind the couch.

It was Walter’s stash.

Somehow, he’d gotten the catnip out of the cupboard, punctured the plastic and had himself a party. We’ve locked up the catnip and are hoping to avoid an intervention.

For all his boundless energy, Walter is extremely affectionate and a world champion cuddler. In fact, right now he’s sprawled across my desk, snoozing. Unfortunately he’s lying on my arms, which makes typing difficult, but he just sighed and made that adorable kitty chirp, so I’m not inclined to dislodge him.

Sweet moments like these are why we love our toddlers, our teens and our kittens.

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Classic case of writer’s block.

Columns

Front Porch: Feline’s perspective: He’s fluffy, not fat

Cindy Hval

Editor’s note: Cindy Hval is on vacation this week. Her intern, Thor, the junior cat in the Hval household is filling in for this week’s column. Cindy will return next week because she’s out of vacation days – and cats.

I’m happy to have this chance to correct the lies that have been printed about me. If I had money I’d get a lawyer and sue but I don’t, so I’ll set things straight in this column.

First: I’m not fat. That rumor started when I was taken to a horrible place called “The Vet.” They did unspeakable things to me and then the lady told Mama, “He needs to lose weight.”

I guess the car still smells like my reaction.

You’d vomit, too, if you were poked, prodded and insulted. As to my other reaction, well cars should come with litter boxes for heaven’s sake! I didn’t know if I’d get out there alive and stress makes my bowels overactive.

Food is important to me, I admit it. I love the food that gets put in my bowl! And the food that’s in Milo’s bowl, and the food that’s in the kitchen, and the food that’s in the dining room, and the food that lurks outside. That kind of food you have to catch and I’m not allowed outside. More on that later.

Before The Vet said I was fat, Mama used to give me treats. Milo says cats aren’t supposed to sit up and beg. He says it’s “conduct unbecoming to felines.” What does he know? Milo only eats the food in his bowl and popcorn. That’s it. Milo is weird and has no taste buds.

All I know is, I used to just sit at the treat cupboard and look at Mama. Then she would say, “Does Thor want a treat? Is Thor a good boy?” Those aren’t even hard questions! And I was like, “DUDE! Yes, I want a treat. Of course, I’m a good boy!” And I’d stand up and take the treat from her fingers.

It was a good life till that nasty vet ruined it. I wish they’d put me in HER car.

Milo is also embarrassed that I roll over for Alex. I’m like, come on, it’s not that hard. Alex says, “Roll over Thor! Roll over!” in this cute high-pitched voice and I roll over. I mean, I’m already lying down. What’s the harm? Milo says I should have my cat card revoked. I don’t even think there is such a thing.

Sometimes, if no one’s looking, Mama still gives me treats. She’s my favorite person because when I was a baby she saw me in a cage with my brothers and she reached in and picked me up.

We’d been abandoned – all of us. So, I know there are bad humans out there – worse than those who say you’re fat. There are people who would leave a litter of kittens beside the road. But Mama picked me up and held me under her chin and I was so happy I purred as loud as I could, so she took me home.

I’m still a little confused about my name, though. Most people call me Thor, but Zack calls me Thorla the Hutt, Stevener, Stinky and Dopey. Mama calls me Baby Kitty Boy, so I’m pretty sure that’s my real name.

Contrary to what’s been reported, I have other interests besides food – water for one. Every morning after breakfast I sit by Mama’s bed and wait for her to get up. She lets me drink out of the bathroom sink. It’s the best water in the world!

Then she turns on the shower. I used to sit on the edge of the tub to make sure she didn’t drown, but once I lost my balance and fell in. That wasn’t fun. Mama screamed and I jumped out and ran into the bathroom door. I had water in my eyes and didn’t know it was closed.

Now, I just wait on her towel and keep it warm. It’s my job. My other job is to sit on her shoes so she can’t go anywhere. She’s always going places and I worry she won’t come back, so I sit on her shoes. It’s hard work. She’s got a lot of shoes and I’m never sure which ones she’ll wear.

My current hobbies include napping, bird-watching and squirrel surveillance – which leads me to my true passion – the great outdoors! I want to go outside more than anything. I know I’m not fat because I can be out the back door before anyone notices I’m gone. I’m stealthy and I’m fast.

I want to eat grass and the bugs in the grass. I want to snack on some birds or squirrels, but I’m never allowed. You want to know why? It’s because of The Vet, that’s why. She says, “Indoor cats are healthier and live longer than outdoor cats.” And my family believed her!

Once when I was little no one noticed I got out, and it snowed. I got scared and hid under Dad’s old car. It was stinky and I got oil on my fur. When they finally found me I was too scared to come out, so Dad got a broom and pushed me out. Then he gave me a bath in the kitchen sink. It was awful! I like water but not all over me.

When I sneak outside I ignore everyone when they call me – except Dad. When he yells my name I run as fast as I can inside. I remember the broom. I remember the bath. Trust me you don’t mess with a guy who’s not afraid to give a cat a bath. Plus he growls. I didn’t even know humans could growl.

So, that’s my story. I was abandoned but I got rescued. I’m not fat, I’m just fluffy. And aside from The Vet trying to ruin my life, I’m one contented cat.

This Front Porch column originally appeared in The Spokesman Review July 3, 2014.