Lenny Potatoes: The Legend

It’s been three weeks since Lenny Potatoes, co-founder of the Stripey Jerko Club and father of the legendary Haus of Potatoes, left this earthly plane.

Lenny made it to 19 years, 2 months, and 19 days on this planet — and 18 years, 9 months, 25 days of that time was ours to share with him. That’s 39 percent of my life to date! (But honestly, baby, who’s counting?)

When he was diagnosed with chronic kidney disease in February 2023, I figured we maybe had a year left. But Lenny being Lenny — my Aries boy — fought the odds in his typically stubborn way, and kept his spicy, bright-eyed zest for the good life until the very last morning on the couch next to me.

Lenny was ready and waiting for us all along. Back in 2007, when I told Dan I was going to the foster home to adopt our glorious whalecat Harry, he told me to get a kitten too.

So when I sat on the floor with cats of all ages and sizes roaming around me, Lenny saw his moment. One of three stripey brothers, and apparently the runt of the litter who was sick of being picked on, Lenny wasn’t going to wait for me to choose him.

Nope, he chose me, hopping right into my lap like he belonged there. Which he did.

I could tell infinite Lenny stories:

• when he pulled a Kiefer as a kitten and launched off the arm of the couch directly into the Christmas tree (and when he climbed inside the tree a few times from the floor)
• how he was obsessed with anything knitted or crocheted, and would walk around the house growling with his fishie in his mouth, and used to steal my lace bras off the drying rack
• his bouncy, jaunty trot as he ran into the kitchen for meals and the shark circles he’d make while he impatiently waited for me to dole the food out
• the windmill arms defense maneuver he’d execute during fights with Harry or Bixby (with varying levels of success)
• the most perfect round tucks and shrimp poses in his favorite cardboard boxes, and the most perfect little soft wrinkles on his forehead that begged to be smoothed out with pets and kisses
• the time he killed a mouse and was SO PROUD
• the way he’d sidle on my left side (always the left side) as we sat on the couch at night and watch TV together, stretching his front paws over my hand to immobilize me, or how he’d loaf in the crook of my elbow in bed like the snuggliest football
• but how he REALLY loved access to Dan’s lap (Dadlap) when Dan had his legs stretched out and resting on the coffee table
• his aggressive dairysnoot, and how he could clock butter, cheese, yogurt, or Reddi Whip coming out of the fridge from his spot anywhere in the house — even in the middle of a deep snooze

I have infinite photos and videos to spend hours scrolling through too — so many radiator naps and sunbeam snoozes and cuddles with blue mousie toy and close-ups of snagglefangs and pink pawpads — but that doesn’t even scratch the surface.

But memory tends to gloss over the tough stuff, and there was a lot of tough stuff. Just ask any of his vets or the behaviorist who basically gave us the diagnosis, “he’s a jerk!” to explain all of his revenge peeing. The last few years were really tough, I now realize as I read through my five-year diary. Every ER visit where I sat waiting for results cradling him in my lap — Lenny surrendering all his trust and love to me in these moments — where I wondered if I’d be bringing him home or if this was it for us.

Every night where I half-slept on the couch to be close to him, listening with closed eyes for a shift in posture or change in breathing. Every time I crept up to him as he slept on his orange blanket to check and see if he still was breathing.

“Go when you’re ready,” I would murmur to him as we had our nightly couch snuggles, gently skritching his cheeks and chin. “You can go whenever you don’t want to do this anymore.” And in the end, I need to believe he gave me permission to let him go, finding the energy for one final sidle-up and snuggle during a 3:00 am Drag Race rerun.

Back when I was posting on social media, it often felt like Bixby and Harry were pulling all the focus because of their big personalities. But Lenny was the legend the whole time.

His stripey hairs were always all over everything, and now when I find one on a shirt or the seat of the car or a tote bag, I feel like I need to save it forever because it’s going to be one of the last ones I discover.

Grief runs like a creek through the woods. It eddies and flows, it swirls around and around in a whirlpool for a few minutes and then moves on, letting more water down the stream. It’s the same, but different every time.

And every human who loves an animal knows these days are on the horizon. Every human who’s already said goodbye to an animal knows what’s coming. My three years of anticipatory grief, of so many mornings where I sobbed about this eventuality while feeding him breakfast, doesn’t make me miss him any less right now.

Lenny chose to re-join the cosmos just after the Summer Solstice, the time of year when the days are the longest and the sun reaches its highest point in the sky. In true Lenny fashion, he took full advantage of soaking up the maximum amount of sun and breezles before he became part of the universe again.

Happy trails, my love. It was all worth it.