The Hardest Thing

When I was a kid, we had a beautiful black, Persian cat named Miss Puss.  She had big, yellow eyes and was a sweet-natured kitty.  Like many animals do, she had picked her person, and her person was my mom.  Every so often, she’d gift my mom with dead animals.  Although my mom found these tokens disgusting, she knew they were gifts and never scolded Miss Puss.  When my mom passed away, Miss Puss came with my sister and me to live at my dad’s house, which was in the same neighborhood, just a few minutes walking distance away.  Once in a while, Miss Puss would disappear.  The first time she went missing, we searched and searched, and found her sitting in a field between her new and old homes, crying.  After that, whenever Miss Puss took off, we knew we’d find her in that field, mourning the loss of her person.  There’s a common misperception that cats are cold, unfeeling, unaffectionate beings; after seeing Miss Puss wander off so many times to be alone and mourn her person, I knew that this perception of cold-heartedness was wrong.  Miss Puss was a great pet, and she was the reason that I got a cat.

When I first moved into my house, I went online looking for lap cats.  I wanted an affectionate cat that would sit in my lap.  My lap cat search returned two breeds:  the Maine Coon, and the Ragdoll.  I’d never heard of a Ragdoll cat before, but one look at the photos of these stunning animals left me looking no further.  I had to have one.  I wanted a female, but the breeder only had one male left, so that is how I ended up with Gabriel, better known as simply, “Kitty.”  As soon as Kitty was old enough to be adopted, my (then) boyfriend drove me to northern Virginia to pick him up.  Kitty cried the entire way home.  It only took a few weeks for him to get used to and settle into his new home.  From the day I brought him home, he was family, and he was the boss of the house.  When Lily came into the picture, I first brought her over for a meet-and-greet with Kitty . . . if he was at all put off by her, she wouldn’t be coming to live with us (after all, he was here first).  Luckily, his opinion of her was, “Eh, whatever,” and she, too, became part of the family.  Kitty was still the boss, of course.

Ragdolls are known for being very affectionate, but Kitty wasn’t the average Ragdoll.  Although he followed me around and liked to be in the same room as me, he didn’t want to be on my lap.  Eventually, as he got older, he became the lap cat that the internet promised he’d be.  There were many times when the phone would ring, and I’d let it go unanswered because I had a sleeping kitty on my lap and didn’t want to disturb his peaceful slumber.  Whoever the caller was would have to wait.

Kitty was mischievous more often than not . . . the missing lining under my couch and the clawed-up living room furniture is proof of that.  Sometimes, as Lily would walk by him, minding her own business, he’d reach out and slap her for no reason at all.  He didn’t like to be bothered, either.  The groomer can attest to that . . . when it was time to groom Kitty, the vet had to put him under; otherwise, the staff would likely leave the office missing an eye and looking like Jack the Ripper had gotten ahold of them.  I tried to bathe Kitty . . . once.  I also tried to clip his nails . . . once.  He let me know in no uncertain terms, that anything other than head and face petting was not permissible, and left bite and scratch marks to make sure I would remember what happens when you break his rules.  He was my strong-willed child, and he was full of personality.

Today, I had to make the hardest decision I’ve ever made.  I’d gone out of town last week, and while I was gone, my son, Chase, cared for Kitty.  Chase texted me that Kitty wasn’t eating.  I thought maybe he was just protesting my absence.  Later, Chase texted again, this time saying that Kitty was finally eating; unfortunately, by the time I got home, he’d resumed his hunger strike.  Yesterday, I was off of work and spent the day at home; he ate only three bites of food the whole day.  This morning, upon seeing no changes in the amount of food in his bowl, I called the vet.  Long story short, his kidney disease was finally catching up with him, and the vet said that they could try to make him comfortable enough to come home for a few days so I could spend some time with him, or I could go ahead and make the decision to euthanize him now.  Not wanting him to suffer made the decision a little easier, but not much.

The vet and staff were so kind and gave me as much time as I needed.  By the time Kitty had crossed the rainbow bridge, my son and my sister (who had come to support me) were crying with me.  This morning, I left home carrying a crate that held the little fella that was part of mine and Chase’s life for the past sixteen years, and Lily’s “big brother” her whole life; this afternoon, I returned home with an empty crate and an emptiness inside that, unfortunately, so many people can relate to.

Letting Kitty go was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.  He was my little buddy.  He was family.  Nothing will be the same without him.  Some people might say, “He was just a cat,” and although he might have been “just a cat” to some people, he was so much more to me.  He was my cat, I was his person, and I loved him.

My brother, a preacher, once told me that Heaven wouldn’t be heaven without cats and dogs, and I wholeheartedly agree.  So, I guess I’ll see you on the other side, little Kitty.