A Tribute to Mr. Qwilleran

It was the first time I had ever held a cat. I didn’t know how cradle to him or pick him up by the scruff of his neck. So I gave it my best shot, and that day in the animal shelter I began my adventure, my friendship, and my growing with Mr. Qwilleran.

We picked him out at an animal shelter, in a room full of other kitties all climbing over each other, pouncing on each other's tails, hopping onto towers and scratching posts. And Qwill crawled right up into Boyd's lap and began playing with his necklace. How could we not choose this ball of fun and affection?

On the car ride home, the 6-week old kitty meowing loudly in a cardboard box, we discussed names. He had been named Cheerio by the shelter staff, who seemed to have an odd cereal thing going, but we wanted a more distinguished name. And I had one in mind. We'd been listening to a series of books called the "Cat Who..." mysteries. I'm a total sucker for cozy mysteries and in this one the detective, Mr. Qwilleran (with a q-w), solves small-town mysteries with the help of his two Siamese cats, Koko and Yum-Yum. And so Cheerio became Qwilleran, or Mr. Q, or just, Qwill.

Qwill had some misadventures in his first few weeks at 119 Bedford St. Exploring a candle for the first time he got too close and singed his eyebrow whiskers. After mastering the jump from the bathroom floor to the toilet lid to the bathroom counter, he was shocked to find himself hopping directly into the toilet bowl – wet and shaggy furred. He had a similar sensation when, after poking his paw into the bath water, he fell right into the warm tub where I was soaking!

I was completely happy with just one cat, until I was visiting a friend’s house in Arizona and saw two kitties, an orange cat and a stripe-y cat, curled up together on a chair. It was such a sweet moment. When I got back, a friend mentioned that she needed to find a new home for her tortoiseshell kitty. And, despite Boyd’s warning that tortoiseshell cats can be neurotic, we welcomed Hazel (nee Mazie, nee Macy) into our home.

Qwill was so curios – living up to the characteristics of a good cat – about this new little thing entering his domain! We kept Hazel in our bedroom to get her used to the place and Qwill wouldn’t leave her alone; swiping under the door and sticking out his nose to catch a whiff of her.

After a week, when Hazel finally ventured out from under the bed, they chased each other up and down the halls of our apartment. Hissing and growling was constant until Hazel finally learned to defend herself against the much larger Qwill. In fact, from her perch on the couch armrest, she had the perfect position to bat Qwill right between the eyes – getting him every time.

I remember taking a photo of the first time they sat calmly in the same room – resting peacefully. And soon enough they eased into a comfortable love/hate, sibling relationship.

Qwill was a sweet cat. Boyd could pick him up and roll him onto his back and pet his belly, working Qwill into a purring frenzy. He’d hop up on my lap and purr so loud it sounded like thunder. He’d also wait for us, sitting in the windowsill, watching for us to come home. When I did yoga, Qwill sat on the mat too. When Boyd worked on his dissertation, Qwill sat on the keyboard.

I think some of Qwill’s happiest moments were in Santa Cruz. Early on he successfully conquered my parent’s backyard, driving away the past ruler, a Siamese named Wasabi. We’d see Qwilleran sitting for hours just watching gophers pop their heads up and then disappear down their holes. He’d sun himself on the tree house porch, watching birds fly down from the tall trees. He’d make cozy nests for himself in the grass clippings in the compost area. Good times! Even a run-in with a skunk didn’t deter him from going outside.

What a shock to move from those wide-open spaces of the West to Connecticut where, because of our apartment arrangement, he couldn’t even go outside. Qwill got (even more) lazy and chunky. I resolved then to make outdoor access for Qwill a priority. In spite of all the warnings about outside cats having shorter lives, I never regretted allowing him to run free.

As I think most people do with pets – and, let me know if I’m the only one – we gave a voice to Qwill. His personality was inquisitive; always wondering, “what’s the deal with that?” and hopping in and out of boxes until he figured it out.

He was as single-minded as Winnie-the-Pooh, except instead of honey, his focus was on tuna (or as he called it, hu-na). [Side note: he’d actually growl when you gave him real fish or fish skin, warning off anyone else who might want to take it from him. For her part, Hazel was not interested.]

He was a lounge singer and was known to sing any song changing the lyrics to tuna or other things in his existence. His favorite? To the tune of the Kinks’ song “Lola”: “Qwill’s a dude, a most awesome-est dude, he’s a dude, he’s a dude, oh he’s such a dude; he’s so dude-y, D-U-D-E dude-yyyyyyyy…” How can you resist such a charmer? It’s hard to stop his voice from slipping into my head now.

Moving to Toronto was hard for Qwill. He had to get into a new routine. The yippy dogs next door gave him a scare on one of his first trips out, and he’d get into hissing matched with “bad kitty” on the other side. We were so busy settling in ourselves, trying to update our lives to the Canadian way of things and we didn’t get around to updating his collar tag. We got new phones but didn’t add the new number. We didn’t realize that you are required to register house cats in Toronto.

Then Qwill didn’t come home one night in October. I was in California and Boyd left on a trip the next day and didn’t see Qwill in the morning before he had to go to their airport. I got home the next day and there was still no sign of dear Qwill. The food that Boyd had left out for him was left untouched, which could mean that he never came around whining at the door with no one to answer. There’re a million places that Qwill could be right now. My dearest wish is that he has found a welcoming home and is charming another family, sharing his love and purrs with them, warming their laps.

It’s been over a month now. We’ve posted signs, talked to neighbors, registered him lost with the city, notified the microchip company (which doesn’t have any office or network in Canada…). We’ve heard so many stories of cats coming back after long absences, so we still hold hope. I’ve been putting off writing this blog post, but it feels right to honor him now with this tribute. Both of us still have frequent dreams of finding our orange kitty, or seeing him wandering home.

Hazel hasn’t been the same since her “brother” left. She’s much more whiney and demanding of our attention. Maybe she actually misses having someone to chase her around!

There have been some unexpected comforts for us. We live in front of a cemetery and one of the graves is for a family named Cwil. I brought flowers to the grave last week and took time to remember our Qwill, say prayers for him, and let him know we always love him.

I want to end by thanking all of you who cared for Qwill over the six years he was with us, all those who played with him, let him in and out of the house, cleaned his litter box, knitted him catnip mice, cleaned up his real mice “presents,” and all those who have comforted us in this loss. I feel extremely lucky to have had such a wonderful first cat, and he’ll always be my #1 Cat Son, as he liked to call himself.

I put together an album of all my favorite Qwill moments, which you can see here.