A while back, this pic came up in one of those “Memory” reminders in Google Photos. It’s from 11 years ago, and it’s one of my former pets. His name was Jack, and he was a cat. A great cat. Yes, I know some people think “great cat” is an oxymoron, but really it’s not.
He wasn’t the only pet I’ve ever had of course. Growing up, we had two dogs (Peaches and Rusty) and a couple cats (Cookie and Eli). When our kids lived at home, we had 4 cats and 1 dog during their childhoods. Pepper was a great dog, and sometime I’ll probably write about her. The cats – Max, Amanda, Lisa, and Jack, were a mixed lot. Max was pretty cool. But I find myself having little or no memory of Amanda and Lisa, for whatever that means.
But Jack, our last one, is the one in the picture, and the cat I remember best.
Why do I remember Jack the best? Because he was the best? Maybe. Or because he was the last? Or maybe because he left us way too soon–I think he was only 3.
And he WAS a great cat. He was more like a dog, in that he seemed to want to be with people. He tended to greet you at the door, and he was happy sitting on your lap. In the backyard, he’d kinda hang around you. And he never bothered the Christmas tree, as some cats do. But he DID love to sleep under it. In fact, he looked so warm and cozy that I really wished I could fit under the tree as well.
But he was an “indoor/outdoor” cat. Which means he was more likely to pick up strange diseases. And that’s exactly what happened.
Because one day Jack started acting “not right”, and a few days later he was just…gone. I knew, just knew, he had gone away to die. But three days later, there he was, right in the backyard, walking around like nothing happened. I brought him in, we took him to the vet, and were told that he had a terminal disease. (And no, I can’t remember what it was.)
It’s amazing how much denial we can have about a loved one, even if it’s only a cat. Because for the next few months, we went on like all was good. And honestly, it seemed that way. For a while. But then it hit Jack all over again, and this time it didn’t get better. I remember his last night was tough. He would cry and cry, and the only way I could comfort him was to lay beside him on the kitchen floor. So that’s where I slept that night. Jack got through the night, but we knew he couldn’t last any longer. It just wasn’t fair to him to make him live in that much pain.
So we took him to the vet, and he did what he had to. There, surrounded by his family, Jack passed peacefully. I know he was just a cat, but that was really hard. Now, more than a decade later, it’s still hard to write about.
When I asked my daughter Emma a few years back why I missed Jack so much since he was only a cat, she said something like “He was more than a cat. He was part of the family, and he was a good friend.” And she was right. I don’t know how a cat can be a friend to a grown man, but yet he was.
I haven’t had another pet since then. It’s not for any real reason, except neither of us are sure we’re ready for the commitment and work a pet requires. So there’s a good chance that Jack will have been my last pet.
And that’s OK really. Because Jack was great. And yes, he was a good friend. I will always miss him.
Even if he was “just a cat.”