I noticed his picture while panning the shelter’s website. I sent a link to my boyfriend. (I wish I still had that email.) It said something like ‘this is the one for us.’
The little kitten was standing tall staring straight at the camera. His ears and paws seemed much too big for his tiny body. He held one paw up the air, a habit he kept for the first half of his life. Always lifting one paw when he greeted me at the door then switching to the other.
Although my boyfriend, (now my husband), picked him up from the shelter I immediately felt as though he were my own. Actually he decided to bring home two cats and while everyone in the family fawned over the quiet, shy cat I took an immediate liking to the frisky one that feared no one.
I didn’t like cats. I still don’t. I only had one friend with a cat growing up and that cat was a crazy one. It flew across the sofa in the middle of the night and jumped up walls.
This cat was different. He wasn’t aggressive or wild in temperament. He had a ridiculously loud purr that you could hear before he even walked into the room.
When we moved out of my boyfriend’s apartment the cat claimed my bedroom as his own. He would curl up on top of my soft blankets and purr throughout the night. He loved a particular white comforter of mine. Every time I pulled it out he would come running up the stairs and hop right onto it. I still don’t know how he knew I was laying it across the bed. I couldn’t hear a sound when I unfolded it.
He may have belonged to my husband but he was 100% my cat. I remember walking into the basement one night after a huge fight. I don’t know what my husband and I were fighting about, but I remember crying hysterically on the floor while our cat nudge his head against my arms, legs and elbows. I dripped tears onto his shiny coat, but he didn’t seem to mind. The more I cried the more he nudged against me.
When I broke my wrist that cat would nestle between the arm of the chair and my good side. He always managed to place his head in the perfect location for petting.
The poor guy produced excess saliva whenever he got excited. As I stroked his fur he’d often gulp loudly almost to the point of gagging. I’d have to stop every once in awhile because I was always afraid he’d get physically sick from the excitement.
In my darkest hours he sat on the recliner next to me and somehow made me feel better. He sensed my sadness and came running every time. How do animals sense emotions like that? He seemed to know the moment I was upset.
He slept on my bed after my surgeries and as I suffered through the pain of drug induced neuropathy. Any time I didn’t feel 100 percent the cat would be at my side.
He was my one and only baby for 11 years. When my son was born he dropped in the ranks, but never acted out as a result of it. In fact, he remained the calm, quiet animal he had always been. My son was extremely gentle with our cat. He would put his hand in front of his whiskers and let our cat sniff his hands before reaching out to pet him. I never worried that my son would injure the cat and I never worried that the cat would lash out at my son. He was too gentle to harm anyone.
When my son was young the cat always wanted to be nearby watching, but for the most part did his best to remain just out of reach. At seven months my son was determined to see that kitty. As the cat sat quietly perched on the cushion of our couch my son used his chubby, little fingers to pull himself to his feet. He tried to hold on to the couch with one hand while reaching out to the cat with the other.
When the cat realized how close he was he quickly jumped to another cushion and within a day or so my son began cruising along the furniture trying to keep up with him.
When my son became a toddler I would occasionally walk into the room to find him talking to the cat. One day he told me he was teaching our cat the ABCs, another time I stumbled upon him singing songs as the cat sat high in the kitty stand above him.
That cat, our cat, was no ordinary feline. I used to tell people he was more like a dog. He’d follow me around the house wherever I went. He’d pop down off the cat scratcher whenever anyone came to visit. He’d hop onto the couch and rub up against the strangers skin until they stroked his fur and talked to him. He followed vendors around the house, plumbers, painters, electricians, it didn’t matter.
My mom who truly dislikes animals always said “I really like your cat.” A few times when she spent the night at our house the cat slept in bed beside her.
Last night I cried hysterically while thanking my cat for everything he’s done for us. I let him lick the bottom of my ice cream bowl then picked him up and rubbed his head. This morning I said goodbye one last time. I told my son our cat will go somewhere he won’t be in pain any longer. Over the past few days he was unable able to hold down any food and I knew it was time to say goodbye.
I keep telling myself he had a good fifteen year run, but that doesn’t really make it any easier.
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