Ricky
(Spike
and others at WGN called Ricky my hairless cat. He certainly had
a unique look about him, and a unique personality. Here's a story
about my best friend who I miss very much)
By
Steve Dale
Today,
I've lost my best friend. Even in death Ricky has helped to dispel
one more myth some people have about cats. I'm a guy, (and, yes
if it matters, I'm straight) - and I'm proud to say Ricky was
my best friend.
My
mother left a voice mail message that Ricky, our Devon rex cat,
was again being featured on Animal Planet's, program "A Pet Story."
I knew I'd be receiving an onslaught of email. It happens every
time they rerun the show.
Ricky
had also been featured on "National Geographic Explorer," CNBC
"Pets: Part of the Family" PBS, on a Canadian TV show called "The
Pet Project," and on virtually every local TV station in Chicago.
Just because this kitty belonged to a famous pet journalist doesn't
explain why Ricky had more face time on TV than some politicians
- he also appeared with me many times on my own radio programs.
It's because Ricky was a virtuoso piano player, and he could jump
through a hoola hoop (or over prone children or dogs doing a 'down/stay')
in a single leap. I taught Ricky these and other tricks to prove
you can train a cat.
From
the time he was a kitten, we socialized Ricky by taking him places.
Like all Devon rex cats, he only had a single coat of soft hair.
In fact, there was so little on the top of his head, he looked
like an ad for Rogaine. His elfin triangular face was framed between
his over-sized ears. As a kitten, he was mistaken as a "deformed
Chihuahua," and a teller at a bank once thought he was a wind-up
toy.
Sure
his unique look fascinated TV producers, but it was Ricky's personality
that was a clincher. Ricky actually learned to look at the red
light of a TV camera. And he loved the attention, from TV directors
or patrons at a pet store. Imagine walking into the pet store
to find a cat sitting on a table playing a children's piano.
An
older man pulled his wife close and said, "Listen Gladys, he's
playing 'Melancholy Baby."
She
retorted, "Harry, you're losing your hearing. And she began to
sing. 'You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…" Ricky wasn't playing
that tune either. No matter; he made two folks happy. And what
a pro he was. At another Petco appearance, they positioned Ricky
right smack bad between the budgies and the gerbils. Despite those
mind boggling distractions, he never missed a note.
Teaching
Ricky was easy. He'd purr as I clicked the clicker, and then as
I presented him a treat for playing a few notes on his piano.
It
was three years ago that I took then one year old Ricky to see
veterinarian Dr. Donna Solomon for a routine physical, and we
toted his piano. After all, the office staff wanted to enjoy a
private performance from their maestro client. Despite the applause
from staff members, Solomon managed to hear a hurt murmur. Veterinary
cardiac specialist Dr. Michael Luethy diagnosed hypertrophic
cardiomyopathy. It means Ricky's heart muscle in the lower
portion of the heart is thicker than it should be. Because of
the thickening, the heart can not relax well or fill up with blood
as it should. If the disease is diagnosed early, as it was with
Ricky, cats with this disease have a chance at a least a few years
of prolonged quality life with medication.
The
good news is that Ricky never realized he was sick. I dutifully
returned to the cardiac veterinarian for ultra sound checks, and
while the disease was progressing, it seemed a slow progression.
Ricky pretty much trained himself to jump on my shoulder and actually
"ask" for his daily dose of heart medication.
Anyone
who ever met Ricky pretty much agreed he was a unique kitty. Even
people who feared or disliked cats enjoyed or at least tolerated
Ricky. He loved people, especially children. All 8 lbs., this
little dude ran our household. He called the shots. When other
dogs visited, he instantly let them know he was king of the castle.
It didn't matter if he was pushing around a 50 lb. dog. All that
teaching I did had a downside, Ricky was always learning. He learned
to open doors, and the doggie cookie jar at the vet office that
goes "woof" if you open it. He'd munch on a dog biscuit, and then
toss one down to his waiting subjects - the dogs below.
On
one WGN Radio appearance with Steve King and Johnny Putman, after
performing a little kitty rock 'n roll for the hosts, he nearly
knocked the station off the air as he jumped on the control panel.
Another time, as the National Geographic crew taped Ricky at WGN's
Showcase Studio on Michigan Avenue, he attracted a huge crowd.
Ricky looked back at the gawking folks on Michigan Avenue with
even more interest than they had in him.
While
painting the front hallways of our condo building, I was tucked
away in my office with our two dogs, two of our neighbors' dogs
and Ricky. Some time later, I noted my office door open. Taking
a quick head count, it was Ricky who was missing. I ran to our
front door, which the painters had propped open and run down the
freshly painted hallway down three flights where I found my cat
with what was now a yellow tail. Luckily, it was latex paint,
which easily washed off.
On
Monday June 3, ironically only a few hours after "A Pet Story"
was rerun on Animal Planet, Ricky suffered what amounted to a
massive heart attack. He was eating his food, when he keeled over.
I rushed Ricky to Blum Animal Hospital, but despite Dr. Sheldon
Rubin's amazing efforts, it was time for Ricky's life to end.
The problem is that my wife Robin and I just weren't ready for
that inevitability.
I
know from by reading the email that Ricky touched thousands, changing
their image of what the potential of cats can be. But to me, he
was simply my best buddy. He followed me everywhere. When I went
to the bathroom, he was on the other side of the door waiting
for me. He slept at my side every night. The connection we had
is tough to articulate - but let's just say we made Lassie and
Timmy look lame. Ricky spent hours on my lap as I wrote stories.
It's very difficult to write this one without his help.
I realize the anecdotes filling the life of any pet can fill a
book, but in his short time on earth, Ricky's chronicles could
easily fill two books. Here's my favorite: If Garth Brooks could
perform in Central Park, I thought Ricky can play piano on the
front steps of our condo building. At one such outdoor concert
a 10-year old boy with Down's syndrome walked by. He was enthralled
by the piano playing feline. He starred at Ricky for several minutes,
and then spontaneously he began to giggle. We're not talking little
giggles here. I mean full blown belly laughter.
His
mother quietly said. "Billy's father passed on two weeks ago.
Everyone tried to get him to talk, to react."
Just
then, Billy, who was still in stitches, began to pet Ricky. Then
Billy sat down and snuggled with Ricky now purring in his lap.
I don't know what secrets Billy shared, but he whispered to Ricky
for several minutes. Just before he and his mom departed, Billy
looked at Ricky and said, "I loved you," and then he kissed Ricky.
Ricky
was a very small cat, but the hole he left in our hearts' is enormous.
Our house seems empty without him. And at least for now, our lives
seem empty too.
