This is our cat, Schmitty.

I don’t talk much about my cats on here for obvious reasons, but I figured it was o.k. to do so today. Recently, faced with the idea of losing him, I think it’s due time for an ode. But I will warn you, I sound age 7 when I talk about my cats. Especially this one.

Schmitty is the $1000 dollar cat. Actually, he’s worth much more than this but that’s how much we spent on vet bills over the years. And we’d spend much more to keep him around forever.

Schmitty is 12. He was born sometime around today but 12 years ago. I would like to give him anything he likes today – like fishcakes or mini muffins – because he’s perfect and unbelievably sweet.

Let’s see, about 10 years ago, he had his penis removed because his momma was feeding him a variety of cat food equivalent to the human’s McDonalds. (I didn’t know any better back then. Pets should coem with manuals.) We could have paid 40 bucks to put him down, but that was out of the question.

Schmitty has a plethora of nicknames: The Big Guy (comes with a song), Fatty Poopington, Professor Snugglesworth, Schmittholio (also with song), Tubbs, Turd Mahone, Tub-a-lubba, Buddha, and just plain Schmidt. There are others but they pop out during musical moments. We love this cat. Everyone who meets this cat loves him. It’s strange the way he looks at you. It’s as if he knows something. I am convinced he knows how to solve every problem, every war that ever was but doesn’t know how to tell us. But if he ever figures out how, I’m sure he’ll have a blog.

Schmitty brings me joy. Real joy.

Toby and Schmitty are the best of friends. When they met three years ago, something became complete. Toby takes Schmitty on rides when he gets home from work every day. These rides are sort of like a human’s cruise. And that’s what it looks like, too. Toby bends down, Schmitty puts both paws in the air and places them onto Toby’s shoulders. Toby scoops The Big Guy up. Schmitty’s tail wraps around Toby’s waist and they go on rides around the house. They stop at windows and high up places, places Schmitty could once jump to but can no any longer as he’s getting older and he’s not as agile. Toby lets him down for a few minutes to visit and then picks him back up again and they continue on. And every time this happens, I picture Toby with kids. It’s unbelievably charming.

Schmitty sleeps a lot. He weighs 17.5 pounds. (He once weighed 20.) Schmitty purrs constantly. Shcmitty will never attack someone. His claws come out only when he has to be put in a cage, and even then it’s not to fight, but to hold on for dear life.

Recently, Schmitty was taken to the vet for a check-up. We were told he would have to have his teeth removed. He had to be put under for this. Which we agreed to. During the day he was away, I worried non-stop. The house wasn’t the same without him around. It was empty and not nearly as fun or warm.

Schmitty is tall, and sometimes when I’m working, he’ll stop over, stand up alongside my chair, and tap me on the shoulder. It’s a little freakish knowing you’re alone in the house with three cats and something taps you on the shoulder and you look over and see that no one is there. But then I look down and see Schmitty and everything is o.k. again and I scoop him up and we snuggle.

I love this cat. Everyone who knows him loves him. It’s physically impossible not to. You’d have to be one heartless snake to hurt or pick on the Schmidt.

This is an ode to The Big Guy. May he live many more years, happily, fat, and with us.