Koa, the strange wanderer that chose our family, moved in to our home and made it his kingdom, has left us. Living in our front yard (or so we thought) in 2016, Koa became legally part of our family in 2017, when the family across the street gave him up to us. They were a recently blended family with a new dog and Koa would have none of that. He removed himself to our flower bed where we called him "Dirt Cat" and thought him a skinny stray. When we had an old couch on the back porch covered in a tarp, he made that his home base. We became friends and began feeding him, and he would graciously give and accept affection. After we took him to the vet for injuries from a fight, we learned his name and where he was from. They were very nice people and were embarrassed about his plight, and when we asked if we could keep him they were immediately receptive and appreciative. His name "Koa" was for a striped Hawaiian wood which he could abstractly be said to resemble in his gray and black stripes. He quickly became the center and focus of our lives, with a clear and interesting personality, a very loving nature and frankly high intelligence and communication skills. I have never seen a cat so capable of telling you what he wanted, it was like talking with a non English speaking child, he let you know fairly clearly what he wanted, sometimes seemingly waiting for you to catch up with his clear commands. All four of us became close personal friends with Koa, who was the #3 cat in our herd to start, but quickly rose to outshine the geriatric orange cat brothers Yugi and Rufus. In comparison, he was comparatively exotic to the older cats as he was fully 'indoor-outdoor". While Rufus and Yugi were stuck inside for their entire lives, he roamed the neighborhood at night, occasionally getting into scrapes and having carnivore adventures that he leave on the doormat for us be astonished by. Yugi died from a heart attack (we think) and Rufus became lost without his brother, in kitty dementia and loneliness. Koa stepped in to remind him of what kind of animal he was with the occasional head lick and platonic snuggle. They were friends at arm's length, which was a theme for Koa, as his favorite thing in the world was to sleep on his chosen human's arms or hands. We will remember his daily trips to our gravel driveway, turning around insistently to guarantee humans were obediently following, for him to fall dramatically on his back to writhe like a larval grub, waiting for some one to rub his belly. We called this "grubbing" and it became a household verb. Throughout his tenure as top cat in our home, his independence and personality shown through any demands for domesticity. He slept outside on most nights, preferring a padded (later heated) cabin we built on an outside deck chair with old blankets and a plastic BBQ cover. His cabin was waterproofed and fully cozy, and he ruled from his throne with a satisfied smile. He was a great cat. A great friend and loyal family member. As the years rolled on, he retained his defiant but loving personality but became a little more retiring, sleeping inside after a run in with raccoons, and the loss of his hearing. He may even have become completely deaf as he didn't seem to respond to noise anymore, his kidneys gave him some trouble but still he prowled our yard with authority of a lion. He began to yowl on the porch in the sunshine some days, maybe in happiness, or maybe asking one of his human pets to join him for a nap.
As I write this, (through more tears than I can remember in some time), it is important for me to say that Koa became the absolute best animal friend I have or probably will ever have. I really felt that he understood and loved me. His loss is more keenly felt than I could have imagined. We spent our mornings on the back porch together, we had long, what felt like conversations, which I know were really more just compaional monologues listened to by a lovely cat who knew how to hug your arm. Koa was the only animal that I was in daily contact with who was never a pet; he was an equal who happened to live in our house on his terms. By choosing us it was implicit that he could also choose somewhere else should he want. He wanted us. His loss is more like a very close friend or blood relative rather than a subtraction of livestock. I am proud that at his passing, aided and abetted by me, who didn’t wish to see the brave feline pirate of 22nd Ave Sw reduced to a drug dependent, mangled caricature of a house cat; he was brave and fearless. As with many beings with huge hearts, his physical heart failed him. Congestive heart failure was his downfall. He now sleeps with the worms, in kitty Valhalla where someday he and I will sit together again, on the ethereal couch and talk and nap in a sunbeam. My heart is sore and empty but embraces the love he left behind. I love you Koa: good night friend. None of us are far behind…
