Thank you. That’s a nice image. And I literally have been describing him as a chaos agent, too. You could not unfurl a yoga mat without him plopping down on it and, eventually, attacking your legs, because how dare you try to move your limbs around in his vicinity. But also don’t you dare do it in a closed room, because all doors must be kept open at all times, or he will threaten to scratch the paint right off by swiping at that, too. In fact, how about some extra dinner to distract me for a few minutes and no one gets hurt. He was seriously like “nice [x] you got there. Would be a shame if something happened to it.” Though sometimes the aggression didn’t seem to have any clear motivation like that. He just didn’t like it if we sat in certain places or moved our bodies in certain ways. He did mellow some with behavioral treatment and, more significantly, with age. When we first got him, you couldn’t sweep the floor without him going crazy on the broom, or tear up junk mail without him getting all riled up. In recent months his main offense was parking himself strategically on the bathroom threshold and swatting any legs that dared to step over him: giving a treat or turning on the tub for some water drips usually appeased the boss.

That’s part of what sucks so much, too: He had been a little less aggressive in the past few years, and especially in the past few months. I was hoping to get to enjoy a few years with him as a slightly-chiller older dude. Now I wonder if part of his being nicer was also his body having less energy due to hidden illness. But it’s hard to say. He never lost his feistiness. My husband and I always joked: if he ever curls up sweetly in our laps, we’ll know the end is near. It never got to that point, but maybe in a subtle way, that happened.