In Memory of Ferris 10/24/2021 – 12/14/2024
Ferris was named hopefully. The intent was to instill this tiny, sickly little kitten with strength—with iron. A manifestation that a kitten without a chance, found beneath a trailer in a hoarding situation he didn’t deserve to succumb to, would grow the metallic support beams he needed to be more than his circumstances.
And boy, did he ever.
Ferris came to us in January of 2022 from Kansas. Strapped into a carrier, he looked through its holes and watched the landscape pass by like a smear of paint on canvas. The amazement of sprawling, gently rolling hills, endless fields, and dappled sunset couldn’t possibly compare to the adventure he was embarking on and didn’t even know it. His feline leukemia status wouldn’t act as the blockade to a good life that it had for so many others—all he had before him was the open road.
For us, there is always an anticipatory kind of grief that bubbles in your throat when you first meet a kitten with feline leukemia. It was no different for us, then. But Ferris, in the way only a kitten can, disarmed us with his immediately playful and sweet nature. Somehow, these cats that may not have a tomorrow show us the importance of living for today. Though their time may be measured, we’d make sure every moment counted.
So Ferris lived for today, every day. When he made it to Cookie’s, all that boundless kitten energy was put to good work. He had many other kitten friends to play with, and as he got a little older, he even ran a gang of midnight mischief makers. Ferris, Newt, and Holmes would prowl the length of Cookie’s Place with shoulders shifting in panther-like strides, tails flicking in smooth warning waves for anyone who dared to challenge the ruffians. Occasionally, we’d have to put one in timeout for bad behavior and if Ferris wasn’t the one behind the metaphorical bars, he’d be the one outside exercising his right to protest.
But we all knew the tough guy exterior was an act. Ferris was a secret softie, and when he wasn’t walking up and down the catwalk in his figurative leather jacket, he was snuggling in the softest beds with his best friend, Newt. They both shared an affinity for cuddling in the absolute strangest positions, their paws curled in and bodies sometimes uncomfortably contorted…though they looked to be the very picture of relaxation. All that was missing was a few cucumber slices and a face mask.
When Newt suddenly passed away due to a blood clot, Ferris camped outside of the condo he had been sleeping in for two days. With his paws curled, and a peaceful expression on his face, Ferris patiently waited. But Newt didn’t get to come back home, and we wondered how our sweet chunky-cheeked tabby would fare after the loss. His scrappy spirit kept him going, but we could tell he missed his friend.
We grappled with some medical issues in Ferris after that, a history of inappropriate urination, a tendency to scrap, and those resilient chubby cheeks that usually meant you had come across an intact male. But Ferris had been neutered and had both testicles removed some time ago. We had done bloodwork, testosterone testing. Eventually, we did an ultrasound and found that on top of having both testicles removed…Ferris had a third in his abdomen that never dropped!
Finally, we had solved the mystery of Ferris’ adorably chubby cheeks. But the road ahead was still a long one. It took multiple surgeries to remove the offending testicle, as it had buried itself in a highly vascular pad of fat. We had to have a board-certified surgeon perform the surgery! We hoped, after the surgery, that our Ferris would have a decent recovery, and that his stress levels would be significantly reduced without that primal urge to scrap and claim territory.
Things improved tremendously for our boy, but they still weren’t perfect. That’s when we had an idea. Maybe it was time we moved our resident scrapper to a more quiet, subdued room. To Cookie’s Annex Ferris went! Over time, as his testosterone levels continued to dwindle, Ferris settled into a quiet life in that room. He still had plenty of energy to burn off playing, but his new favorite pastime melded to that of the others in the room. Ferris wanted uppies.
Walking into Cookie’s Annex is always the funniest thing. All these ex-street cats, allegedly tough and chunky, lining up for their chance to be held like a baby, and Ferris was no exception. He would stretch out on your leg, chattering his need, and would snuggle so sweetly into your arms when you lifted him. Who’d have thought our scrappy street cat would melt into one of the biggest lovebugs in the sanctuary? We were thrilled.
Ferris hung up his fingerless gloves for another kind of gang entirely—the kind that were more likely to bully you with love than with claws. Scotty, Ferris, Orca, Marshall, and Morris had all decided they liked forehead kisses more than fighting, and we were happy to supply an endless amount. He spent his days in cuddle piles, sunbathing in his quirky little positions, watching TV, laying in a lap, and spending an inordinate amount of time at the food bowl. He was the chirpiest little guy, and even ran our socials for a day, wearing our kitty cam like a real champ! And in that footage…the first thing he does is run to you when he hears your voice.
Ferris melted our hearts, every day. A mere hour before we had to let him go, he was held like a baby, his absolute favorite thing in the world. But as we always say with our felvies, they are healthy until the day they aren’t. And Ferris was healthy, happy, and loved…until his felv suddenly triggered and filled his body with fluid. There was no cure that could be given, no medication to improve his chances. There was only a final gift we could give Ferris, the gift of a gentle passing in the arms of those who loved him most. He was held like a baby, given all the forehead kisses he could tolerate, and he made biscuits even at the very end of his life…because that’s just how full of love and joy he was.
Ferris passed on knowing the ultimate love, and the ultimate sacrifice that comes with it: an end to something there is never enough time for. Still, Ferris made us laugh every day. He snuggled and slept and played, he chirped, he was mischievous and he was sweet. Ferris didn’t know that the timer had been set, but every day was precious and well spent.
And though our hearts ache to lose him, we know the truth: Ferris has just as much love waiting for him in the endless glade above, across the bow of the rainbow-stepped bridge. Newt waits to guide him over its threshold, to show him a place where there is no pain. Where there are mountains of soft, fluffy beds, all waiting for sweet little tabby cats to lay upon them, toes curled and all.
Thank you to the volunteers who loved Ferris, who endlessly played with him, who smiled at his antics. Thank you to the incredible staff who showed this tiny kitten there was more to life than fear. Thank you to the amazing team of veterinarians who cared for him. Thank you to his lovely sponsors, Ashton S and Bryan B.
Ferris more than lived up to the name he was given: strong, resilient, he’d found his support from within himself. He showed us the importance of living in the moment, with your paws to the ground, rooted in the reality of how beautiful life can be despite all the odds stacked against us. As we looked up at the evening sky the night of his passing, the clouds cleared. The moon hung in a clear sky, its glow unobscured by the grays of the world. And we have him to thank for that.
We love you, Ferris. We always will.
Ferris had 2 Sponsors
Ashton Skinner
Bryant Barager