Farewell, Peanut

Perfection is rare—nearly impossible to find. And when you do find it, you must savor it for as long as possible.

Unfortunately, we have lost a bit of perfection.

I am not just another maudlin pet owner mourning the loss of a cat. Peanut was so much more than any pet, I’ve known. He was my feline brother…and I only knew him for 7 short years.

Oh sure, he did all the usual things people love about cats. He was playful and intelligent. Hyper-intelligent, really. He was impossibly cute, right up until the end.

What stood him apart from most cats was his empathy and desire to comfort all those around him: cats and humans, alike. Whenever Dawn and I took in a new rescue, Peanut would sit with them in silence so the new cat didn’t feel alone and afraid in the cat tent we set up to help them acclimate to our home. When each cat was ready for release into the broader house, Peanut would show them around and teach them what was expected.

More impressively, Peanut could instantly read Dawn’s and my emotions, and provide whatever comfort and assistance he could. 

He mastered the art and science of snuggling. One snuggle we called the “sneck,” where he would snuggle against your neck. It was scientifically proven that you cannot be sad, depressed or angry with his patented snecking technology. He would climb up into our arms, placing his front paws and head over our left shoulders, pressing his purr-box against our throat and purr as if there were no tomorrow. If you stroked his body in time with the purrs, it would only amplify the effect many times over. He also mastered another snuggle technique we called “caving.” Dawn and I have different bedtimes, and Peanut would take each of us to bed every night at the proper designated times. Once in bed, he would crawl under the covers with us and curl into a ball next to us between an outstretched arm and chest, as we lay on our side. In the winter he could be charged with the crime of “kleptotherming” (stealing our body heat), but we never pressed charges. Then there was the vaunted “triple snuggle.” While Peanut was snecking one of us, the other human would move in for a hug. Most cats might freak out. Peanut dialed his purr motor up to 11 and revel in the closeness.

Peanut was born in June 2012 in a Wisconsin barn. This might explain his love of milk and cheese. Discovered with his brothers and sisters by Dawn, Peanut turned out to be an exceedingly rare breed of cat known as a “wheat panther.” The runt of the litter, Peanut never grew very big, but the size of his adventurous and caring heart was evident from the beginning. He was a pack cat and quickly became the playful ringleader of any pack he joined.

As his brothers and sisters began being adopted, Dawn’s mom Pam took in both Peanut and his brother Professor White Paws. Peazle (as Peanut was commonly known) and the Professor were uncannily smart, often able to get into and out of the most impossible of places and situations, as if they had opposable thumbs. We have no doubt that they studied both physics and psychology at “Pawvard University.”

They lived happily for the better part of 7 years with Pam. Unfortunately, Professor White Paws contracted a fatal illness young and preceded his brother over the rainbow bridge.

When Pam’s health began to fade, Peanut looked after her as best he could until she came to live with Dawn, and eventually me, after Dawn and I got engaged.

Dawn was surprised at how quickly, Peezy and I bonded. The evening after I moved in, I made some universally known cat-attracting sounds with my mouth, and Peanut raced over to me on the couch for some expertly delivered petting learned from a great tuxedo cat named Oz. From then on, Peanut and I were an inseparable pair.

When not receiving all the lovies possible, Peanut was content to sit or sleep next to me on a padded stool as I wrote or fixed pens. His favorite toy was a piece of piano wire with cardboard attachments on it called a cat dancer. He would chase it in circles at speeds that would make the Tasmanian Devil jealous. He would periodically put on a show by leaping into a flip to catch the dancer mid-flight.

Peanut was not a conventional mouser, as he found delivering fatal bites distasteful. Instead, he found more clever ways to dispatch rodentia. These ways really and truly included drowning a mouse in his water dish and launching a mouse into a fan set to high speed. One of the highlights of his hunting career was catching a live bat, which had snuck into our house, in mid-air. (Yes, Peanut had a current rabies vaccine, and we took the bat to the vet for testing, which confirmed the bat was negative for rabies.)

In February 2026, Peanut became increasingly ill. His champion veterinarian discovered he had feline lymphoma in his intestines. The prognosis then wasn’t good, but Peanut responded instantly to treatments including antibiotics, vitamins, steroids and chemotherapy. For the next 7 months he was eating, playing and enjoying the summer sunbeams, again. Yet, the cancer retuned in October.

Peanut was the last known living member of his litter. He is survived by Dawn, Nathaniel and his adopted siblings Moxie, Whizzy and Colby Jack. Given his love of other cats and humans, we donated his body to the top feline lymphoma researchers at Tufts University, where he will hopefully help future kitties live longer, healthier lives.

PEANUT
June 2012 to October 2026