This is Loki. He is a Bengal cat. I got him from a breeder in Pennsylvania in 2011. All I had to go on were pictures on a website, and this was his picture. He was born on January 1 of that year—1/1/11, easy to remember. I picked him up in late March, which was an adventure of its own. The day I had to pick him up, I was actually in Miami. I had gone with some close friends to Ultra Music Festival. The plan was to catch my flight in the morning, rest for a few hours, and then pick him up later that afternoon using a Zipcar to drive from NYC to PA.
Website profile pic
I’ve missed very, very few flights in my life, but this so happened to be one of them, and even though I was at the airport with plenty of time, forces out of my control came into play. Given that many other attendees were also flying out the same day, there were absolutely zero other flights that I was able to take out of the area. So I rented a car and planned to take a flight out of Fort Myers. I drove across the alley, and as I was in my hometown of Naples, I stopped by my mom’s office where she was at work, gave her a hug, and told her I couldn’t stay long at all and had to leave almost as soon as I had gotten there, but didn’t want to pass by without stopping.
The flight from Fort Myers into NYC was uneventful, but I was pretty exhausted amongst the passengers. The couple of hours I had planned to rest before leaving for cat pickup ended up only being a couple of minutes, but alas by late afternoon I was on my way with my buddy Josh.
As luck would have it, about five miles from the cattery, as it is called, we got a flat tire. I called ahead and said I was running even later than I had already said I was running late. I changed the tire and we were back on the road—donut and all.
We picked up Loki, who was more than displeased to be taken away from all his playmates and put into a moving vehicle (bringing a cat carrier would’ve been a smart idea in retrospect, but at least I had made it). By this point it was 8 PM or so, and we were driving back on Interstate 80 with three tires and a donut, doing well under the speed limit with a mewing cat in the passenger seat in my buddy’s lap.
We eventually made it back, even with making a wrong turn and ending up in Newark. And that is the story of how Loki came into my life.
Loki is rather well traveled for a cat. He has lived with me on the Upper East Side, in Harlem, Crown Heights, Jackson Heights, Elmhurst, and Amityville. Of course, now he lives with us in Somerset, Pennsylvania. He has come with us several times to Florida, once via airplane, which he did not care for at all. I also learned during that trip that when you bring an animal onto an airplane, you have to take them out of the bag at the security checkpoint. That did work out rather well, though, because he was voicing his annoyance with being in the bag quite loudly, but once he was out of the bag in that sort of situation, he quickly realized that being in the bag was a much better place to be. The other trips to Florida have been by car. He does pretty well on the trip down—at least better than the first trip. Maybe he has learned that being in the car for that long means going to Florida somehow. He usually knows when we’re going back north and is typically vocal about his preference not to go back. In his defense, we typically go in the winter.
Accurate comparison
Beach bum
Loki on a boat
On the patio in FL
For the past half decade, he has made a claim to a third or more of my desk and has helped complete lots of work. And by work, I mean not work—unless you call putting your name on a validator work. LokiTheCat is a great moniker, at least that is what he tells me.
Taking a break
The metrics are looking bad
The metrics are looking good
Where are the metrics?
Reviewing some code
He is very helpful in any sort of wiring project and will quickly let me know if I’ve let a stray wire lay somewhere.
Helping build a computer
He is always happy to pitch in when it comes to yardwork and reloading.
Helping with yardwork
Helping reload some 6GT
When he was 14, which would’ve been about a year ago, I noticed he was losing a bit of weight and was more energetic than usual—at least more than would be expected from a 14-year-old cat and somewhat out of line with how he had been the past few years in terms of energy levels. So we took him to the vet, which mind you is one of his “favorite places”. After some tests, he was given a diagnosis of hyperthyroidism. I discussed the treatment options with the vet, and the standard of care in this situation is that he takes medication, a.k.a. I squirt liquid into his mouth two times a day. I asked how long I would have to do this for. The answer was, “Oh, for the rest of his life.” Luckily, there was another option: radioactive iodine.
This treatment basically entailed taking him to a treatment center— the one we chose was in Rhode Island—dropping him off where they would inject him with a specific dosage based on his blood test results, and then he would have to chill there for a few days until he was no longer at unsafe levels of radioactivity. Then when we picked him up, for the next three weeks everything that came out of the litter box had to go into a bucket which needed to be stored for three months before discarding. It is apparently illegal to put radioactive things in your trash, and what I was taking out of the litter box was radioactive. Fortunately, it was January and the shed in the backyard made a good place for me to store this bucket for that time.
Ultimately, this process cured him, which is in line with the typical effectiveness of that treatment and hence my propensity to pursue that route.
On the way home from treatment -- his face says it all
He is now 15 years young and sitting in my lap as I write this. He is a good boy, and I am glad to have him in my life.
True story
As if he knew that I was writing about him, he is now getting up and heading to the kitchen. I’ll soon be scolded for not having already prepared his supper. Tonight is chicken night, but of course if he doesn’t want the chicken, I’ll give him some chicken, because on chicken night the options are chicken or chicken. The catch of the day—which always seems to be sardines and mackerel—is not until tomorrow.