Juno Hugo-Vidal, First of Her Name, Queen of the Windowsill, Empress of the Upstairs and Down, Slayer of Bugs and Stealer of Snacks, passed away earlier this week at the age of, allegedly, 12. The cause was humane euthanasia made necessary by kidney failure and a systemic infection; an ironic final blow for a cat who nursed her human through the removal of a kidney. She is survived by her devoted human servant of nine years, Victoria; loyal canine companion and protector Janey; and puppy Karma, who she tolerated with a beyond saintly patience.
Her early years remain shrouded in mystery. Like a real lady, she made sure we never knew her real age. What is known is that in 2014, she was plucked from the streets of Brunswick, Maine, by the Coastal Humane Society (now the Midcoast Humane Society). Victoria Hugo-Vidal and her sister Virginia took one look at the scrawny, scabby gray and white tabby, fresh from the alleyways, and knew immediately she was the one.
Technically, we were paid to take her: As part of an adoption special, she was fee-waived, and we won several tickets to a Three Doors Down concert as part of a shelter giveaway. Which, in retrospect, we should have scalped, especially considering how much money in expensive prescription kibble she would later require. (Her scabs weren’t from fighting, as it turned out; they were from having sensitive skin.) On her first night in the Hugo-Vidal household, she stole the remnants of a rotisserie chicken off the kitchen counter and dragged it up the stairs, down the hall and to Victoria’s bedroom at 1 in the morning.
Juno witnessed Victoria descend into alcoholism and claw her way into sobriety. When Victoria would drink too much and pass out at her desk, on the couch or on top of the covers of her bed, Juno was always there next to her when she woke up. Was she waiting for Victoria to die so she could eat her? The evidence is inconclusive. But during the long, gray winter of 2017-18 in particular, playing with Juno at the end of the workday was pretty much the only joy Victoria had going for her in her life. Juno knew what time her devoted servant was due to arrive home and got to pacing around, watching the door for her.
Juno accompanied Victoria through several relationships and moves, from her mother’s house to an apartment with a boyfriend (longtime readers may remember Ishmael), back to her mother’s house and finally to her very own home. Despite cats generally having difficulty with environmental changes, Juno handled each transition with blase acceptance; she simply strolled into a room and said: “Yes, I am here and this is mine now.”
She was also remarkably genial with other animals. At various points in her life, she calmly lived with a rambunctious kitten, a chunky elder cat and Neko, who she was originally adopted as a companion for. (They never became close but maintained cordial diplomatic relations.) She also liked dogs and was occasionally used to teach rambunctious puppies that they needed to respect cats’ boundaries – she would stand her ground and use her claws if necessary. While gentle and loving, she was not a pushover.
Her hobbies included playing with fishing-rod toys, chasing little moving dots of light, chewing on plastic, attempting to climb into the lap of anyone eating on the couch and gently taking food directly from their mouth if she wasn’t stopped in time, and taking a nap on the chest of anyone who reclined at less than a 30-degree angle. She enjoyed dozing in sunspots and, while she had access to many luxurious blankets, pillows and pieces of furniture, her favorite spot was always on top of a piece of plastic (shopping bags, shipping envelopes). In the winter, she slept on top of Victoria’s head, where she liked to purr particularly loudly at 2 a.m.
Unlike many cats, she loved meeting new people and would happily, in her younger days, trot up to a newcomer to receive the head scritches that she, of course, was entitled to and deserved. As she aged, she let new folks come to her, and anytime a visitor entered the home and went to pet the cat, Janey barked and snarled at them to remind them that Juno was her cat, part of her pack and under her protection. Juno never got any bigger than 8 pounds, but she ruled any place she chose.
Now that she is gone, there is a small emptiness on the couch, in the corner, on the kitchen table. Her devoted human servant keeps looking to the left, by her favorite corner, and she is not there. She was a steady, silly presence in the lives of the Hugo-Vidals for nine years. She was much loved and will be much missed.
Victoria Hugo-Vidal is a Maine millennial. She can be contacted at:
themainemillennial@gmail.com
Twitter: @mainemillennial
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