08/06/2026
Twelve years ago, Romeo came to Ruff Patches after someone called us, upset. Kids in a trailer park were throwing rocks at a cat. That cat was Romeo.
He was maybe two years old back then - a scrappy, unneutered street cat with big jowls, a few battle scars, and a whole lot of attitude. He had zero interest in being anybody's polished little house cat. Rough around the edges, sure. But underneath it all, he had a heart of gold.
Nobody lined up to adopt the scarred, opinionated tomcat from the streets. So Romeo stayed. From the very first day, Romeo wasn't just a rescue to us. He was family.
He could be gloriously grumpy. If you stood up too fast, or dared to stop petting him before he'd decided you were finished, he'd reach out with a paw - claws very much included - just to let you know your service had not met his standards.
But then a new kitten would show up, scared and tiny, and we'd catch this same tough old street cat curled around them, grooming them, watching over them like the world's most devoted foster dad. He never lost that soft spot.
In his prime, Romeo basically ran the place. He had opinions. He had standards. He had presence. Everyone knew whose house it really was.
As he got older, he softened. He got cuddlier. Every night after dinner, he'd climb into my lap and settle in like that was the only place in the world he was ever meant to be.
Some of you saw our earlier post about the tumor in his abdomen. We chose not to do a biopsy. It wouldn't have changed how we treated it, and we couldn't stand to put him through anything he didn't need.
On Friday, July 31, Romeo stopped eating. That wasn't like him at all. He was having trouble walking, seemed far away, and started purring nonstop, even in his sleep, something that can mean a cat is in pain. We upped his pain medication to keep him comfortable through the night, and we made the decision we'd been dreading. Romeo was telling us it was time.
And then, of course, Saturday morning he asked for breakfast, ate every bite, and acted like his old self again. They really do know how to make us second-guess ourselves right at the end.
But we knew. We knew we didn't want him to hurt anymore.
His favorite volunteer, Andrea, and I took him to North Valley Veterinary Center, where Romeo drifted peacefully off to sleep. We are so grateful to Dr. Ortega and the whole team there for the kindness, compassion, and gentle care they gave him over the last 12 years and in his final moments. It meant everything to us.
Romeo was a loved and important member of our family. A street cat. A foster dad. A grumpy old man. A lap cat. A household manager. Truly one of a kind.
We miss you, Romy. We will never, ever forget you.
