An Ode to Wilbur

Wilbur loved to lay in the window and sleep in the sun. 

 

Wilbur 

Yellow eyes 

Pointy ears 

Wet nose

Whiskers a'plenty 

Little cow boots 

Forever my little boy 

Nothing like grief to make a person journal again. I'm also on vacation so I have  time to write again. Working full time and pursuing a Masters degree means I have no time to blog or do any of my usual activities. But I cannot continue with my life until I mourn. Therapy has taught me that I have to feel my emotions because if I compartmentalise I will never address my feelings. If I don't feel, then I won't hurt. But I also won't heal. 

I'm no stranger to death. Afterall, I'm a medium just like my Abuela/Mormor, a goth girl, work with a plethora of death deities, and unforunately had many people I cared about pass. 

I've been fostering cats and TNRing since I was in my teens. I have seen my fair share of dead cats. But never a cat that was my pet. Or a cat that I loved. I knew Wilbur was magical when I first laid eyes on him. Dia del las Almas de las Mascotas or Day of the Dead for Pets was on October 27, 2025. Today, October 29, 2025 is National Cat Day. Wilbur died yesterday, October 28, 2025 at 7:02 p.m. It's like he timed everything so well. I'm just glad he's no longer suffering. He stopped eating on Sunday. We knew his cancer was eating his organs away. We knew his body would soon start to shut down. Wilbur no longer could pur. 

Cancer took my beloved pet and one of my favourite musicians, Tomas Lindberg. I will never forgive or forget. If this blog touches you please donate to animal shelters or cancer research for both cats and humans. 

I am mourning but I also want to celebrate and honour Wilbur's life. Wilbur changed Ryan and my life for the better. That is why I will NEVER stop fostering and TNRing cats. I will continue until I die. 

August 1, 2019 Ryan and I arrived in Bushwick with Anthrax and Squeakers. It was the first day of our new life. Neither of us have ever lived in another state before. We've lived on our own before. We lived together in another country, Australia. Both Ryan and I were born and raised in Illinois. We both did college in Illinois. I have already stated why I chose to leave in many blog entries. To summarise, both Ryan and I never felt like we belonged in Illinois or the Midwest. 

We arrived at the building that would be our new home. I opened the car door. I stepped out. What did I see? A scared and startled tuxedo cat ran away and hid under our new apartment building's dumpster. I quickly grabbed some food. But the kitty ran away. I knew it must be hiding nearby so I said, "If you're hungry come find me and I'll give you food. I have two cats and I rescue cats like you." I never thought Wilbur would actually listen to me. Ryan and I first lived in a big studio apartment on the second floor. I would see a bunch of cats sleeping together. I knew this was a colony. I would hear them mate in the spring and summer. 

Occationally, the tuxedo cat I found on the first day I moved to Brooklyn would flirt with Squeakers. I thought it was cute and funny. I would tease Squeakers and say, "Your suitor is here." Or I would call Wilbur her boyfriend. Every time Wilbur would appear, I would say, "Sorry my dude but Squeakers is neutered. She's not interested in sex." I told Ryan I think I will name that tuxedo cat Wilbur because he lives behind our building. And we live on Willoughby Ave. 

Then the pandemic happened. Ryan and I were stuck in our studio. We were driving each other nuts. Because there were no walls in our studio or places to go. I am immuno-compromised. Ryan lost his job. We were stuck together. Normally, we don't mind. But we're two mentally ill, neurodivergents who need alone time if we want to remain civilized and have our social battery running. 

Then we were offered a duplex unit on the first floor. At first, we thought it was a good deal because we did not have to look for a new apartment or move. And we got more space. But our rent was ridiciously expensive and our landlord was a scumbag as usual. The only two good things that came out of living at our old apartment was getting Wilbur and the creation of Plague Master (Ryan's band). 

Ryan and I moved into the bigger unit. Then I noticed there was a ramp and a big door that led to outside. I knew the history of this building because I was 100 percent sure it was haunted so I researched it. It used to be a cinema, gathering place for the Labor Socialist party, mental institution, and retirement home. Then it was made into an apartment building. The ramp made sense.

I never understood why the previous resident would cover up the door. No human knew about the door. Then I saw a bunch of cats sleeping on the ramp. My heart broke. These poor babies. Were they born in this colony? Were they bodega cats that escaped? Were they abandoned cats? I had too many questions.

All I knew was that I was going to help these cats. I started to feed them. Eventually, I gained their trust. Then our second year, one of the white cats I fed came inside. I knew I had to foster him and find him a new home. As is my family tradition to name cats after metal bands. I named this cat Adramelech.  Because he killed me with his cuteness. He was the Chancellor of the blue eyes. Supervisor of the feather toys. Sadly, he died 5 days before Wilbur did. I found him a great home.

Here's my precious Adremelech. He was adopted and became Dreamy. 

I knew my program to deferalise this cats into house cats was working. I needed to work fast because Ryan and I were moving. I told Ryan we would only move if I was able to trap the colony of cats. With the help of Bushwick cats and my vet, Doctor Loose I was able to neuter every cat. The kittens were adopted. The 3 cats who were too feral were given to bodegas or breweries. At the same time, a ginger tomcat also part of the colony was trapped in my building. I don't know how he came inside but I scooped him up and put him in a spare carrier. I've always wanted a ginger cat. I know they're dumb and chaotic. I don't care. I still want one. The day he was supposed to be neutered. When Ryan had the door open he bolted and escaped outside. That little jerk climbed a tree by our apartment window to gloat at me. His look was so smug. His look said, "Hahah, you can't take my balls! I am free!"

Then a miracle happened. Wilbur walked into our apartment. I was testing out churrus and catnip. I gave him some like I always do. Wilbur kept crying for more. I said, "Sorry buddy but I don't have anymore." He didn't believe me and walked into the apartment. He plopped himself on the cold tile and chirped at me. I went upstairs and got Ryan. I said, "Ryan you won't believe this, but Wilbur is downstairs. Go get some greenies." I knew from the time I laid eyes on this cat that this cat would be ours. Either mine or Ryan. Every time Ryan called Wilbur he would come running. Like a child being called to dinner in old movies or shows. 

Once it became dark, I opened the door again. I fed the bodega cats dinner. Wilbur grabbed his kitten, Wilson with his mouth to bring him in. But Wilson ran back out. I think he was already mated to Adramelech's younger sister. Wilbur went outside and bit him. I said, "I'm sorry Wilbur. But Wilson has made up his made to stay outside. I wish we could take him in to. But you can't force him." Then Wilbur looked at his son and walked back in. Ryan returned from the pet store with flea bath and medicine. 

Ryan holding Wilbur on his first day as a house cat. 

After that day, Ryan and Wilbur became inseperable. Wilbur was Ryan's shadow. Everywhere Ryan went Wilbur went. Squeakers became jealous because she was Ryan's only baby. Now she had to share. Squeakers and I bonded more. Eventually, Squeakers learned to love Wilbur. 

Every night he would scream for cuddles. Ryan and Wilbur cuddling. 

I think it's because Squeakers understood that he was very sick. When we took Wilbur to the vet we were told that he had FIV or cat HIV. He had a weakened immune system. He had jaundice and worms. Wilbur would always have chronic ear infections and eye infections. He was a special needs cat. We gave Wilbur his medication. He became a healthy cat. We even stupidly tried to get him adopted. But after a year we had to accept that Wilbur chose us. Many years passed by and after being told Wilbur would only live for 2 years max we thought he was safe. But we were wrong. Wilbur lived for 8 years. Longer than expected, but still it shattered our family. We knew he had bad teeth that had to go. But it wasn't until August of this year we noticed a bump on his hind leg. It was growing too fast. We went to the vet. We had many tests done by different doctors. The day he was supposed to get his leg cut off October 16, 2025 our vet told us the cancer was already inside his organs and bones. That we should start making end of life preparations. We should just do kitty hospice. Wilbur fought bravely. No matter how many medications or how many times we had to take him to the vet he was always a good boy. Wilbur was always there when Ryan and I were upset. He knew how to make us laugh with his chirps. Like Squeakers, he was jealous when we got Garm. But this year, Wilbur and Garm became best friends.

Garm holding and protecting Wilbur. 

Garm wouldn't leave Wilbur's side. Not even at the end. Garm was there when Wilbur died. All our pets were because we chose to put him to sleep at home. Wilbur died wrapped up in Anthrax's baby blanket with Ryan holding him. The last thing Wilbur heard was his favourite band, The Cure, "Love Song" and us telling him how much we loved him. Garm licked his forehead. And I held Anthrax while he saw. Mostly so Anthrax wouldn't lay next to Wilbur's dead body and for my own comfort. Anthrax is my soul animal. I know at that moment, Anthrax was glad I held him because I could tell he was crying with me. I am still crying typing all of this. But this is good. I want everyone to know how brave and how loved Wilbur was. This is not an obituary. This is the story of love. This is the story of an innocent animal who endured so many awful things but was always happy and hopeful. Wilbur loved cheese, churrus, cuddles, greenies, and post punk. That is why if you wish to honour Wilbur play some Sisters of Mercy or The Cure. 

The Cure's "Lovecats"