For Sylvio

We lost our darling boy, Sylvio, in the early hours of Sunday, September 6th. This post was written in his honor.

Two and a half years ago, shortly after Louie moved to Australia, Tom and I felt ready to adopt a second cat. And Louie was desperate for a playmate. I checked out a couple of local shelters online, but Sylvio (called Dennis at the time) was the first cat I met. At two years old, he was curious and sweet. It was Easter Saturday, and I simply couldn't leave him behind.

 

Sylvio was a tuxedo cat, so he was always dressed to the nines. Very dapper. His coat was the softest velvet. Black with a white chin, neck and paws, patches of white fuzz on his belly, and a sprinkle of white between his eyes. Pink paw pads. His eyes were light green, ears soft but sturdy. He had a beautiful, masculine nose and the most magnificent whiskers. 

 

Sylvester felt like a fitting name. Although he had many nicknames, including Syl, Sylvie, and Mr. Black.

From the beginning, Sylvio was relaxed and easygoing. Nothing really bothered him (even the vacuum). 

  

Tom and I reckoned that he probably had an Aussie accent, though the voice we used to imitate him was a bit dopey.

 

 

 

He was very independent but also affectionate. Friendly but not a lap cat. He liked sniffing your hand before receiving pets, and giving hard, head boops. He didn't enjoy being picked up, but tolerated it.

   

 

He'd usually be at the door when we came home. Unlike Louie, he was quick to greet guests, always the favorite. 

 

Sylvio loved basking in the sun, which would turn his coat reddish-brown. 

 

 

When he overheated, he would stretch himself against the nearest wall, presumably to cool off.

   

Sylvio went crazy for wet food. He cleverly trained himself to sit on the washing machine to inform us when he was ready to eat. Or he would wait, patiently but expectantly, in the kitchen, just in view from down the hallway. If he gave up, he would hover quietly nearby until me or Tom walked to the kitchen, then trot ahead to lead the way. 

 

He was well-attuned to any noises or goings-on in the kitchen, like a sixth sense. He didn't complain about the pipe cleaners that Louie dropped in the food bowl. And he was very sneaky when it came to stealing Louie's wet food. When he occasionally darted out the front door, we could always lure him back with a can of wet food. 

  

He was lean when we adopted him, but filled out quickly. Tom said it was the way he carried his fur.

After eating or taking a poo (he was notorious for not covering), he’d become twitchy and flick his tail.  Maybe bat a ball around. When he was feeling especially spirited, he’d splay out his legs and crouch low—a sure sign to Louie that he was ready to play.

 

Sylvio loved slow mornings, resting his head on the edge of the bed as he watched Louie bounce around. 

He was good at using scratch pads and rubbing against the corners of everything. He enjoyed cleaning himself and being brushed. He didn't purr often, so it always felt special when he did. 

 

And of course, Sylvio loved his brother. And Louie loved Sylvio. 

 

 

   

It was such a natural transition for them, which is uncommon with cats.

  

  

 

Despite their unique personalities, they quickly became thick as thieves.

 

 

 

They'd often patrol the neighborhood from the windows and front door.

 

 

Most evenings they would zoom around, chasing each other at full speed for at least one lap of the house. Sylvio liked to wind up on his haunches before sprinting after Louie.

 

They'd also wrestle, full-on Lion King style. Louie usually started it, Sylvio always finished it.

  

 

When they tuckered themselves out, they'd rest and recharge. Sylvio liked to stretch and do a tight circle in between sleeping positions. 

 

And he loved to clean Louie's face and ears, which usually ended in a wrestle.

 

After we moved, they found new favorite spots. During the day, we'd put their bed onto our bed, and move it back to the couch at night. When Tom came to bed, Louie would promptly jump out of their bed, but Sylvio was happy to be whisked off to the couch to be tucked in.

 

After we found Sylvio, it was always slightly easier to leave them for trips, knowing they had each other.

 

Tom and I loved to imagine silly scenes of what they would get up to while we were gone.

 

Sylvio had it tough coming after Louie. Yet he still managed to hold a very special piece of my heart. There are so many things that I loved about him:

• When you bent down to pat him, he’d push up on his hind legs, as if leaning into the pat.
• When he needed to back up quickly, he'd gracefully wheel around on his tall white socks.
• When startled, he'd spring straight up into the air.
• When you went in for a head scratch after he'd just woken up, he'd give a big yawn.
• His face-to-face boops.
• His croaky meow.
• His gentle snores.

 

Sylvio was a good boy, taken far too soon and too suddenly. We miss him more than we can bear.

But I feel him nearby, keeping an eye on us. With Tucker, Max and Mitsy. 

  

We love you forever, Sylvio. And we'll see you again someday.