In Memory of Morris 6/25/2011 – 7/27/2025
Though this story starts very similarly to many of our other Shadow Cats, its subject defied all expectations, preconceived notions, and barriers. This story is as special as the cat who lived it. This is Morris’s story, and it begins when the sweltering Texan summer gave way to a similarly sultry fall in 2014.
We received correspondence from the Austin Animal Center about a 3-year-old feline leukemia-positive cat. We blessedly had space, so saying ‘yes’ to Morris was a no-brainer. There was, of course, no way to know the impact we’d have when saying ‘yes’, and just how special this cat was going to be.
Much like the autumnal palette at the time, the shifting, deepening oranges of leaves and plentiful pumpkins lining boxes in storefronts, Morris was a beautiful orange boy. In perfect complement, his eyes were this incredible seafoam blueish-green, the kind of shade you’d expect to see only in the clearest Caribbean waters. At the center of the line on his nose, a carefully placed freckle. Branching outward, a sprig of whiskers on each side, streaks of white with black stalks peppered throughout. Just below the whisker pads, twin fangs peeked out. As a whole, Morris looked more lion than housecat.
He was striking.
It was love at first sight.
We very quickly learned that Morris was more than just a pretty face. Though he had quite the big cat physique, he was incredibly sweet, friendly, and very affectionate. He’d look up at you with those seafoam eyes, and suddenly you were compelled to give him as many pets and scritches as he desired. If your lap was full of other Cookie’s Place cats, Morris didn’t mind; he’d lounge right on top of the lot of them in a ridiculously amusing and sweet cuddle pile.
Morris was generally more of a people’s cat than a cat’s cat, but there were, of course, exceptions to that rule. Kittens, specifically. Something about kittens awoke something gentle in Morris. It wasn’t uncommon to see Morris snuggling up to a newbie kitten, grooming them and providing them the warmth they were surely missing from their family, or a person who loved them. Throughout the years, he’s even been called “Uncle Morris” for this sweet behavior.
People had the true grip on his heart, though. Like a heat-seeking missile, Morris knew when you entered Cookie’s. More accurately, you could say that he knew the moment you were opening the door, because he had a tendency to stare at you through the window longingly if you were giving the kitties attention in another room.
Morris isn’t the ONLY reason we have a no shorts rule, but he certainly was the first cat we thought of in regards to the rule. When you opened that door to Cookie’s Place, Morris was already flexing his little toes in preparation. If you had some nicely textured shoes, he’d greet you by making biscuits and destroying your shoelaces. Aw, Morris! You shouldn’t have. If your pants caught his eye, though, he’d stretch out on you like you were a human scratching post, those little claws penetrating the fabric and making your eyes water. But he’s so handsome and sweet that no one ever wanted to stop him! Most of us would just grin and bear it, and Morris would look up at you with a pleased expression, like he was none the wiser.
We actually had to have signs around the sanctuary at one point, warning of Morris’ door-dashing behavior. He just wanted to be where the people were! And, naturally, when he found out that Pepper’s room held the most expensive veterinary diet in the sanctuary, what kind of cat would he be if he didn’t sample it for himself? So many bowls of Royal Canin hydrolyzed dry food thrown away after Morris’ curiosity was sated…silly boy! It was someone’s sole job at the Christmas Open Houses to hold Morris to ensure he didn’t door dash. He was just such a character.
Morris really ruled the roost. He just had that natural charisma that drew you to him. We wouldn’t be surprised if those beautiful eyes of his possessed some hypnotic power. We’ll never forget when Morris started living in Annex, one of the cats knocked over a box of temptations treats and chewed fangholes into the plastic. We had blamed Dixie solely at the time, but after witnessing Morris gnawing on the top of the treat container, we put two and two together! Seemed this was a coordinated effort, and Morris was quite the opportunist. We’re sure he used some Jedi mind tricks to absolve himself of any responsibility, and we went on our way. We had to be crafty about hiding the treats after that.
We just adored Morris. At every photoshoot for every event, Morris was front and center. He sported many an outfit, including a Dracula cape for Halloween, thanks to his fangs, and even a Hawaiian button-up shirt. He would wear necklaces and hats. He was just thrilled to be around people and to be the center of attention. When we had social media personalities and influencers come to the Sanctuary, Morris was always happily the first greeter of Cookie’s Place, and his claws didn’t discriminate against their shoes. Everyone had an equal opportunity to have their shoelaces frayed and split. We loved that for Morris.
The stories we have are plentiful, the memories eternal. I could spend the next eon writing all of the silly little things Morris has done. He was just that kind of cat. He had an impact on everyone he ever met. He lived to be an incredible 14 years old, despite his feline leukemia, despite anyone who ever said these cats simply aren’t worth the heartbreak. Whether it was 6 months or the incredible 11 years we had with Morris, we know he would’ve impacted us the same. As he grew into his old age, toward the end, it became clear his feline leukemia was rearing its ugly head. After some GI problems, an ultrasound left us with severe IBD or probable GI lymphoma as a diagnosis. We knew, then, that our time with this boy who had lived despite all the odds was coming to an end.
When ringworm took the sanctuary by storm, though it took some of the other feline leukemia kitties time to recover, Morris simply could not overcome it. We consulted with dermatologists, but we knew the reason that he could not heal. His immune system was so hampered that there was little to no chance of kicking the fungal infection; this was clear. Still, we had to try. Morris had his own personal television installed in isolation while we treated him. Our Sanctuary Director had an old one lying around, and thank god it was an old one, because those paws came out swinging when Morris saw a mouse fly across the screen. That TV took a beating, but it was his! Hand-delivered, just for him.
To give him the best chance of healing, we even built a special catio out of the isolation window. Morris spent his last days doing what he loved second-best to destroying shoes, being pet and crawling into laps despite maximum cat occupancy. He sunbathed. Morris LOVED the catios. He loved to watch the bunnies and squirrels run by. He loved to watch birds flit about in the sky or concealed birds twittering in the rose bushes. Morris was freest beneath the sun that mimicked the tresses of his orange mane, unhindered for a moment of pure bliss in warmth that set his tiny soul alight. Beneath the sun, Morris was free. Free of worry, free of feline leukemia, free of cancer.
We had high hopes for Morris’ recovery then, but congestion quickly turned into pneumonia. The immune system that didn’t have the strength to fight off ringworm didn’t have the strength to fight off sickness. We caught it early and treated it quickly, pouring our everything through tears to give him the best chance at survival. But in a matter of days, it became apparent that Morris wouldn’t fight this. Not this time.
We knew, then. We had to free Morris, one last time, from one last struggle. We made sure his last days were happy. We let him sunbathe freely on his catio. He was fed with every treat he could possibly delight in. He was visited by those who had seen him in his prime, a bounding Lion standing at the precipice of his pride. Many tears were shed, near and far, for the soul who touched so many hearts and showed so many that feline leukemia isn’t a death sentence. Morris lived his life on his terms, loved by everyone who ever had the privilege and blessing to meet him. Morris defied the odds. He was a symbol of what love can do, an icon, a fixture, and the perfect example that life is what you make it.
On Morris’s final day, he was surrounded by those who, with tenacity and hearts brimming with love, treated him through the most difficult chapter of his life. We shared stories of his silly Morris-isms, and we laughed and cried. He ate as many temptations as his heart desired. Beneath the sun he loved so much, with loving hands cupping his face, holding his paws, and petting him until his very last breath, Morris passed on.
We miss Morris terribly. We will continue to miss Morris terribly. He became a part of Shadow Cats in the truest sense. It’s easy to picture him in our mind’s eye, reclined along the highest shelf on the catio, the greenest grass contrasting with the sweet orange of his coat. It’s easy to picture his big paws hanging over the edge, biscuits and purrs revving on approach. The sweetest eyes, a cat-like grin, with two fangs peeking out just past his lips. Before there was ever grief, before there were tears, before there was heartbreak and sadness, there was love. So much love. Our collective grief over the loss of Morris is merely proof of the most beautiful, incomprehensible, breathtaking, spiritual thing someone can experience. It’s the proof of love, and for Morris, we have it in spades.
Now, Morris stands at the precipice of the rainbow bridge. Across the way, there are so many friendly, familiar faces, the Shadow Cats he knew and loved over the course of his decade with us. Morris stands not as the old man he’d morphed into, but in his former glory. His miraculous coat sprawls out in sunset orange, his eyes echoing the vitality they once held so many years ago. He’s thicker than the old man we knew, a true lion, once again at the head of his pride. As he crosses the rainbow bridge and bounds into tendrils of light, as he raises his head to bask in the pure warmth of the truest eternal sun, we know Morris is free. Free of cancer, free of feline leukemia, free of worry, boundless and roaming the expanse of infinity with the cat-like grin he always seemed to wear.
Thank you to Morris’s sponsors, Lisa S, Kat G, and Bonnie D, who watched his incredible story unfold throughout the years. Thank you to the volunteers who gave Morris as much love and attention as he surely expected, who loved him through changing seasons and spanning years. Thank you to the incredible staff who gave it their all in treating Morris through the most difficult chapter of his long life, and for giving him love despite it. You were everything to him. Thank you for loving him and treasuring him long before he was sick.
Thank you to anyone who ever had Morris’ signature scratched on their various body parts and grinned through it, or even laughed. Thank you to everyone who watched Morris’ journey, from AAC to Shadow Cats, all the way to the new Sanctuary. On his catio, a plaque was placed. In his honor, a brick. His portrait, lovingly drawn by Kelly K, hangs in our Community Room now, standing the test of time and reminding us…of just how special this special cat was.
We love you, Morris. We always will.
Morris had 3 Sponsors
Lisa Salazar
Kat Gesh-Wilson
Bonnie Denbo