Fizz came into my life from the Washington DC animal shelter in late fall 2000. He had grown up on the streets of DC, in a not-so-nice neighborhood. I went into the shelter looking for a black and white girl cat, but there was something about him that made me look twice. I was smitten when he let me hold him for about 45 minutes without squirming or wanting to get away (he was only 5 months old!). Fizz is the only one of our cats that I selected without any input from DH, and I think Fizz knew it.

He was named Fizzgig after a character in the Jim Henson movie "Dark Crystal", a little critter that looks cute and cuddly but has an enormous mouth and fierce disposition if his mistress was threatened. He started out as "Merlin", but we changed his name when he bit DH on the nose at an early meeting.

After some days of acclimating, we let him get to know Pip and Mithu, and he was not impressed. They got along alright, eventually, but they were never best buddies. Fizz established himself as a lap cat early on, not just curled up on a lap-as-furniture, but seated on a lap, with paws up on chest, head resting on shoulder. Sometimes he gave hugs. He also came to wake me up in the mornings, usually by trying to lie down on me, regardless of what position I was sleeping in. As he got bigger, this could be quite painful, but we usually worked out a compromise, or he would lie right next to me. He is the only cat I have ever known who liked being squeezed and squashed by hugs. He was like a warm purring teddy bear.

Fizz loved to play in his way. Bags of any kind, to pounce into, or sit on. He loved twist ties. He was an incorrigible plastic and adhesive licker. Stick-on gift bows were never safe around him. He and Mithu enjoyed a good morning wrestle.

He did develop urinary crystals several years ago. He was clever enough to get help by waiting until I could see him straining in the litter box, or trying to pee in a sink where I'd be sure to see. We got it straightened out with diet for the most part, but he was always a food mooch.

His occasional discomfort made him lash out at Pippin, for some reason. A problem that never really went away. The bullying got so bad that Pippin started peeing in the house, and we were at the point of trying to rehome Fizz. We started letting Pippin go outside, and that helped a great deal. The one bright spot out of all of this is knowing that Pippin won't be bullied again, and can hopefully settle back into comfort in his own home.

Fizz always had to be a part of the action. Inspecting open gifts, sitting in or on baby toys, claiming a seat on the sofa when friends visited. At my baby shower a few years ago, a friend had gotten up to refill her drink and Fizz claimed her seat. When she came back and tried to shoo him off, he hissed at her. (I've got some great pics of him playing with a balloon string pre-shower that my sister took.)

He loved visitors, and had to hip-check everyone. You know, when cats bunch all up in the middle, then swing their back hip into your leg with their tail curled up and over. He loved repair men, and once had to be removed from an electrician's bag.

He had a supremely tempting tummy trap, and it had a hair trigger. He would also occasionally lie on his tummy with his legs stretched out in both directions. We called it the cat skin rug.

His tail was always too skinny for the rest of him. The only time it looked right was when it was fluffed out. He was a tall kitty, and long. He could reach the top of the counter when standing up. He was always there for scraps of deli meat at lunch time.

He approached the unknown with a great deal of caution. A suspicious sock on the bathroom floor would merit a long extended paw for a quick tap.

He had a quiet meow, and reserved its use for when we had left him in the powder room with his meal for too long.

RIP my Fizzy buddy. I love you.

In Loving Memory of Fizzgig

Copyright © Caroline Swindell
November 21, 2005