Filou

On December 13, 2008 we brought home a black ball of fuzz from the Humane Society of Huron Valley and introduced her to our dog Chance. He was naturally curious about this new intruder in his domain, and she hissed at him. She got over her initial reserve and by the next day was moving in on his territory. Chance was not enthusiastic.

Linda sorely missed the cuddling she had gotten from our previous cat Dusty, so she was ecstatic about the apparent enthusiasm our new family member displayed for the same thing on her first night with us.

With Christmas rapidly approaching, we wanted to send out a card announcing her arrival, but there was a problem: we didn’t have a name for her yet. Since Linda and Marta had named our previous two cats, it was my turn. After chewing over a long list, I eventually settled on Marta’s suggestion of Filou, which is French for scamp or imp. In most lighting conditions, Filou was an inky black that swallowed light like a black hole that could make photography a challenge. However, full direct daylight revealed that her fur was a very dark chocolate brown.

Filou quickly settled in.

When we first met her at the shelter, her tag described her as a shorthair, which is what I’d wanted after our two previous long-haired cats. Before she was a year old it was becoming apparent that the tag was wrong.

Chance rarely reciprocated her efforts at playfulness, but that was undoubtedly impacted by health problems over his last two years. Cancer took its toll and by spring of 2011 he was gone. On New Year’s Eve in 2011, we brought home a rescue from the Humane Society. He and his littermates had been found in a box in a Tennessee ditch, and had been brought north for adoption. Because of his habit of getting underfoot on stairs, Linda named him Trip.

Now the roles were reversed: Trip always tried to play with Filou, but she had little interest in such foolishness. She treated him like an annoying younger brother who she had to put up with. The most she would indulge in was occasional physical contact.

Filou enjoyed jumping into the bath tub, even if it was wet from a bath.

I would scritch the fabric of the easy chair to attract her attention, and even though she showed interest she rarely did anything more than stare intently at the noise. As an adult her behavior didn’t really live up to her name; she didn’t climb the Christmas trees or claw the furniture or jump up and push things off the counter. She was not much of an athlete, to be honest. She was never going to be on YouTube for feats of agility.

Her first night with us was a bit deceptive— while she loved being petted, Filou turned out to be a cat who refused to be picked up or held; she’d struggle wildly with legs flailing until she was put down. She also refused to sit on our laps, but she loved to lay on top of our legs when we were on the couch. That’s one of our Halloween decorations at the top and Filou at the bottom. Sometimes we mistook one for the other.

In middle age she was quiet and dignified; chasing and retrieving paper wads tossed in her direction was as excited as she’d get.

One of the physical quirks she developed as she got older was an insatiable thirst, which had the corresponding effect of generating huge clumps in the litter box. She was diagnosed as being in the early stages of kidney failure, and she also developed chronic UTIs. Despite the best efforts of her veterinarians, the infections never disappeared completely, and she began to manifest her physical distress in frequent elimination outside the litter box. She also began losing weight, and getting her to eat became a real challenge. Visits to the vet over her last four years became more and more frequent, but she was always sweet and patient despite the poking and prodding. She never lashed out at the vet or sulked. Right after Christmas in 2022 she took a pronounced turn for the worse, and on January 5, 2023 she was relieved of her pain. The house feels very empty now. Toward the end of her life her favorite activity was lying on the couch next to us while getting her chin scratched and her head stroked and petted. She’d frequently knead the blanket for several minutes before settling down for a nap.

October 11, 2008 — January 5, 2023 We’ll love you always. Special thanks to the veterinarians & staff at Stadium Veterinary Services