Yesterday, I lost my lovely little kitty Chompy. He had cancer, multiple forms, but the one that got him attacked his brain, made him confused beyond belief and took away his vision. But the end was not who Chompy was.
Chompy came to me when I was living in Manhattan in the late 90s with my roommate Nona, who is very active in kitty rescue. Someone found a tiny kitten abandoned on the streets and brought him to Nona to deliver to the rescue folks.
However, this spunky little kitten (who was so tiny that he fit in one hand) thought he was a dog, ate dog food and would rough up the other 10 cats living with us, including my Harley, who was the only one who stood up to him. Following a massing set of fur flying fights, they became the best of friends. They fought, scrapped and so much more. And now, they’re up in kitty heaven together.
And back to Chompy.
Chompy’s name came from exactly who he was – a bit of a biter. He never broke the skin but when you would rub his belly, he would get so excited that he would grab your hand with his paws and give you a little love bite – an tiny nibble. Charming. Perfectly Chompy.
He loved chasing laser lights, getting his belly rubbed, sitting on my lap, chomping down full cans of cat food in an instant, snuggling in every which way possible (even on the hottest days of the year), being brushed (though he would attack the brush if it went on for more than three minutes), being pet and just being around me. He had a limitless love for me and everyone he met and — while he was a bit of a scaredy cat around new folks, the blender (where he might have freaked out on my brother and dug a nail into his chest) and the vacuum (which my sister and I might have chased him with causing him to become “flying Chompy”) — he loved every part of life and would greet me at the door whenever I arrived home with an excited meow.
As a self proclaimed kitty pot addict (aka catnip), he would eat volumes of the stuff every time I opened the container. A few times, I even caught him trying to open the container on his own (charming) and I would rub it into his fur too. Clearly I was his “dealer” enabling his addiction 🙂
He was a touch of a troublemaker too. He adored watching the pigeons that flew onto the balcony ledge. I loved watching him stalk his prey, making that little chirpy noise when a pigeon was in sight and then sprinting after them when they were not suspecting anything, and smashing his head into the balcony screen, slowly realizing he couldn’t go any further.
He’d also get into spaces where he didn’t belong, like the day we moved into the apartment in 2008. I remember I couldn’t find him for a while, thinking he got out while the movers were bringing in the last bits. But when I found him, in a classic Chompy fashion, he was just relaxing in one of the empty closets, taking a break and settling into the new place.
Oh Chompy, I miss your handsome tuxedo-ed face. Thank you for all the time and love you gave me throughout your short life. I wish you an endless of time in heaven, pain free with all of your buddies, including Harley, Jez, Zeke, Sam and Zed. May you walk with the angels, enjoying endless fields of kitty pot and ponds of tuna water.
Dear friends and readers, please add your own memories of Chompy into the comments section below.
For me, my home is really quiet without my Chompy, who was such a wonderful comfort when I lost Harley earlier this year. Miss them both quite terribly and created a little Spotify playlist as a tribute. Enjoy.
Full disclosure: I have been working on Spotify’s PR team for some time now via Totally Splended (their US PR agency) and I love building playlists. Hope you enjoy this one.