In Memory of Sir Alfred 9/22/2016 – 3/11/2025
Shadow Cats earned its name through steadfast support of the cats hidden in the shadows. These are cats that have been left clinging to the tattered fringes of society. These are cats with Feline Leukemia, community cats left out in the cold, without food, a home, or even the creature comforts some of our very lucky pets don’t even realize they could live a life without.
Our precious Alfie was one of those cats.
Being branded with the diagnosis of feline leukemia positive is still a death sentence in many places. Whether it’s a lack of resources, space, or education, it’s believed that these cats will “just die anyway” and aren’t worth the effort. Well, we all “just die anyway.” It’s only a matter of time. Sometimes, we know we won’t have long with the feline leukemia positive cats that find themselves in our care. It only makes us more determined to make whatever time they have left incredibly special. Alfie was also one of those cats.
New Hope Animal Rescue pulled Alfie, known as Smitty at the time, from a shelter that was ready to euthanize him. It’s true that he was very sick—thin, frail, without fully functional use of his back legs, uveitis in both eyes, and simultaneously blind, and positive for both feline leukemia and FIV. We knew he was sick. We knew that it was very likely that by the time we’d fattened him up and gotten him used to the good life, we’d have to say goodbye. But we knew we could help. We knew we could give him something special.
Alfie looked at us with those puppy dog eyes through the computer screen and he said, “I have a story to tell. I have a life to live, and the time I have left to live it doesn’t matter.” We were determined to let him tell it, to let him live it in the comfort of a home. Forever, this time.
So, given the full government name and title of Sir Alfred, Baronet of Cookie’s Annex, our precious Alfie came to Shadow Cats. We immediately took him to our veterinarian for evaluation. It seemed likely that Alfie had some sort of cancer in his rear legs, eating away at joints, making getting up and down especially a real difficulty. On top of that, his chronic eye inflammation meant that he couldn’t see. He had to learn how to get around Annex without the use of his eyes. For a time there, we wondered if we would have even less time with Alfie than we’d hoped.
But our Alfie, ever the fighter, persevered. With proper medical care and treatment, Alfie had pain medication to keep him comfortable and was more mobile than we ever thought he would be upon arrival. His eyes actually healed, too! We noticed that his pupils became reactive to light with treatment, and sure enough, over time it became very clear that he could see us. And what a treat it was, to have those big round eyes looking back up at you.
Alfie was truly incredible, a gentle, quiet soul. There was nothing he loved more than a good nap, and when Alfie chose a bed, the cats in Annex would soon follow. It wasn’t uncommon to see Alfie start one of Annex’s signature gray boy cuddle piles, where you couldn’t tell where one cat started and the other ended. His energy was soothing, peaceful, and healing. He’d seek out a lap like a heat-seeking missile, but of course landing far more gently.
It felt like, somehow, Alfie didn’t even know his troubles existed. Every day, he lived a beautiful life, his kind soul untouched by the coldness of the world and the hurdles he had to overcome for the crime of existing. It’s so easy to let the heaviness of life weigh down upon our shoulders like Sisyphus’ boulder. Alfie never considered that an option. Every day, he chose to get up, walk to his favorite spot, and suckle at blankets until he peacefully fell asleep. It was his favorite pastime. And we would watch him, our hearts swelling, brimming with love, as this boy who knew so much pain in his life chose comfort, peace, and happiness.
Alfie made friends. He played with his favorite pickle toy. He ate delicious food. He snuggled so much. He napped in the sun. He tenderly, peacefully curled up in a lap. For six months, Alfie knew how joyful life could be. For six months, Alfie crept into every corner of our hearts and lit a light for every one of his virtues, which are innumerable. We are warmer, brighter, and lighter just having known him.
Alfie persevered for much longer than we thought he would. He surprised us every day, and we poured into him in return. Until he had a fever, one day. We noticed a small amount of blood pooling strangely in one of his eyes. We rushed him to the vet, and after some extended testing and ultimately the removal of the offending eye, we learned that lymphoma had planted nasty roots within it. Because of the nature of cancer of the eye, fully excising it is a hard thing to promise. We knew that it would continue its spread. We knew that our time was running out.
Despite it all, somehow the incision healed perfectly. Somehow, Alfie’s body still tried to fight against all odds. But he became tired. He had persistent fevers, became weak, and was losing weight and his appetite. Alfie was finally, after all his trials and his triumphs, telling us that he was ready to pass on. And as a final gift, an act of true love, we let him go.
Alfie was surrounded by love—a circle of people and their hands to pet him. At the center of the circle, Alfie lay on the bed he always loved. Beside him, Marshall, the last of the gray boys, put a single paw on his back. He kept his paw there for the entire peaceful passing, and he didn’t remove it even when Alfie had passed. A beam of light illuminated our Alfie, and on the beam of light, he left this world. Loved, so loved. Alfie lived a difficult life, with difficulties we don’t even know. But at its end, at the crescendo in his beautiful symphony, Alfie knew love in its purest form. And isn’t that all any of us can ask for?
Alfie stands at the rainbow bridge, now. He stands without cancer, a sightless eye now seeing, and walks without pain. And who better to greet him at the afterlife’s final crossing than one of the sweet gray boys, Orca. Orca, who had to cross the bridge first so Alfie had a friend to meet him. Bounding toward him in a gallop, with love and happiness in equal measure, they can run free. Without pain, without feline leukemia, with strong hearts and free spirits, they run. Endlessly chasing squirrels, jumping after butterflies, they run through a field just waiting to bloom with eternal spring flowers.
A big thank you to Alfie’s sponsors, Sara and Jesse C, Pam L, Rebecca R, Steve O, Angie N, and Nancy H. Thank you to the incredible volunteers who made sure Alfie’s last few months were full of love. Thank you to the amazing staff who nursed him through sickness and helped our boy defy all expectations. Thank you to Vista Vet for providing exceptional care to a difficult case. Thank you to anyone who looked at those sweet eyes and felt the depth of soul within them.
We love you, Alfie. We always will.
Sir Alfred had 6 Sponsors
Sara and Jesse Cover
Pam Lind
Rebecca Raphael
Steve Okino
Angie Noelle
Nancy Henry