The Kitten of Doom - 1. Chapter 1

Do you believe in reincarnation? No? Me either. But suppose, just for a second that you did. How would that work? Would you get to choose where and when you went? Could you, say, go to a person who loved you or a place where you had been happy? I have often wondered about these things after a scotch or two. It's always seemed a shame to me that the scotch never produced answers, only the questions. Sam's story, while not providing any answers, at least gives me a little hope, and that's more than I've had for a while now. To really understand how I relate this story, I have to introduce you to Billy. So, as much as it hurts to share what little of him I have left, here follows the mostly true story of Sam the cat, and how he came to be The Kitten of Doom.

When I met Billy, my first thought was that he was absolutely beautiful. He was tall, dark, witty, funny and oh so intelligent. God, he was so much smarter that I was. And he was dark on a much deeper level than I realized then. He was afflicted by serious bouts of depression and self loathing, that I had only begun to understand. He was twenty one, and I was thirty two, and within weeks, we were very much in love. And then one day, a year later, we very much were not. Or, he was not. I was heartbroken. We didn't see much of each other for the next year, because I just couldn't stand to be near him and not be with him. Slowly, I got over it, and in no small part because I really liked his new boyfriend. So there came dinners and going out clubbing, and suddenly, we were best friends. Over the next two years, the darker side of his personality was more and more evident, and he was using drugs heavily, had moved five hundred miles from home for work, and was generally miserable. Finally, in the spring of 2013, we talked him into coming home to the Fort Worth area. He seemed so happy to be home, and he was his old mischievous self again. Billy loved to laugh, and he loved to break stuff. He absolutely loved to argue, with anyone, about anything. He was the best friend I have ever had.

One day close to the end of July, he said he had to go to his Aunt's house, so that they could talk about money for school. He left here on a Friday afternoon, leaving his kitten, Harper, who he had found underneath a camper just before leaving west Texas. The following Wednesday, July 25^th, 2013, his sister Kim called me to let me know that Billy had shot himself, and that they were going to remove him from life support, because he wanted to be an organ donor, and the doctors had no hope that he would recover. If I wanted to say goodbye, I should come now, because they were going to unplug the machines within the hour. I don't know what I said. I know that Mick wasn't home at the time, and that I broke my phone sometime between talking to Kim and him getting home. When he came home, I told him that Billy was gone, and what had happened, and he simply collapsed onto the couch in our garage and wailed the most distressed, wounded sound I have ever heard in my life. He wanted to know why, and I couldn't tell him. There had been no note. No explanation. Just a gunshot, and he was gone. He was twenty four years old, and he was gone.

But this story is about Sam, so I will move on to that. The day that Billy died would be very close to when Sam was born. We have no idea of Sam's parentage or where he lived when he came into this world. Mick and I moved on in our lives, although the hole that Billy left was very evident. We decided that since it had been Billy's favorite holiday, we would have a big Halloween and have some fun for the neighborhood kids. SO we put out some things in the yard, and had a nice thick blanket of fog from dry ice around the front of the house, and generally it was pretty festive. About nine that evening, as the smallest of the kids were getting finished up for the night, dragging exhausted parents to “just one more house”, our doorbell rang.

When we opened it, there was an adorable little princess with her bag out, and after she got her candy, she said “Awww, your kitten is so cute”. Of course, we had no idea what she was talking about, and then we turned around to go inside. There, inside the door, was this little fuzzy orange and white ball of fluff, already terrorizing our four dogs. They had no idea what to make of this little demon who had wandered in through the fog unseen, and declared this to be his new home. And so, Sam came to be the latest addition to the family. His name is Samhain, which is pronounced Sam Wayne, and is of Celtic origin. He was approximately three months old, and a complete and total holy terror. The dogs (two chihuahuas, a beagle and a shepherd / rottweiler mix) were all instantly his entertainment / victims of random, hilarious acts of subjugation.

Our largest and oldest, Sister Minerva, is a thirteen year old, one hundred pound Rottweiler / German Shepherd mix. On his third day here, Sam jumped off the table top onto her back and proceeded to ride her around the house like a bucking bronc for about the next fifteen minutes. I laughed so hard I nearly threw up, and poor Sister had no idea what hit her. Our next oldest is Leviticus Johnston, a five year old beagle / corgi mix. Now, Levi is probably the most pathetic creature to ever grace the state of Texas. He wears a Thundershirt on sunny days due to our proximity to an Airforce Base, and is generally terrified of everything. In other words, he is the ideal favorite target of the Kitten of Doom. Now, because Sam is super smart, or has kitty ESP or whatever, Sam knows that Levi is naturally wary (to say the least). Because of this, he waits until the poor mutt is either eating or sleeping and cannot defend himself, and goes directly for the balls. Literally. If you have never seen a short fat dog do a backward somersault, I highly recommend it. Very entertaining.

The chihuahuas, I am pretty sure he thinks are food, and he just does not understand why he is not allowed to eat them. After all, at just about a year now, he is twice their length and close to twenty pounds, compared to their two and three pounds respectively. His favorite game is to stalk and corner them, and then grab one in a crocodilian type death roll, until they have to be physically removed by their human saviours. This is definitely for their own good, as I am pretty sure he could figure out how to operate the stove if left unattended long enough.

This extended Laurel and Hardy episode lasted until the end of November, when we discovered just how much Sam LOVES the sound of glass breaking.