There is an empty space at the end of my bed. A vacancy in the feline-formed depression in my comforter.
It seems strange to leave a half-packed suitcase on the bed. Before, it was a nest to be curled up in.
My clothes are cat-hair free today.
Cancer of the jaw, the vet said. The bone was disintegrating. Anything that went into his mouth went into his sinus cavity. Perpetual infection. Unable to eat or drink.
A sad end for my fierce Jack who pulled me in with his glittering green eyes. He came to the shelter with Callie, without whom I was not leaving. She came to the edge of the cage to snuggle through the bars. He hunched at the back and hissed.
How could I separate them? Who would adopt a cat who wouldn't let anyone touch him? So they came home with me. She cuddled, he hissed. Eventually, a year or so later, he let my hand get close enough for actual contact. Later, he even crawled into my lap and stayed for a second or two. A triumph!
The scars from his leaps off my lap have faded now.
That was years ago. I was still the only human who could get close, let alone touch him, though. Whenever husband Jack walked by, Jack the cat greeted him with a hiss and a swat.
But me? All I had to do was sit and form a lap and he came, jumped up and insisted I remain still until he decided to leave.
Anyone house sitting for us had to be reassured that yes, there really is a cat here. You will not see him, but he does need food and water. If they sought him out, they found a vicious beast cornered under the bed.
But me? As soon as I pulled the covers to my chin, he crawled up and laid on my chest, staring through the book for me to pet him.
Goodbye, friend. Maybe no one else does, but I miss you.
It seems strange to leave a half-packed suitcase on the bed. Before, it was a nest to be curled up in.
My clothes are cat-hair free today.
Cancer of the jaw, the vet said. The bone was disintegrating. Anything that went into his mouth went into his sinus cavity. Perpetual infection. Unable to eat or drink.
A sad end for my fierce Jack who pulled me in with his glittering green eyes. He came to the shelter with Callie, without whom I was not leaving. She came to the edge of the cage to snuggle through the bars. He hunched at the back and hissed.
How could I separate them? Who would adopt a cat who wouldn't let anyone touch him? So they came home with me. She cuddled, he hissed. Eventually, a year or so later, he let my hand get close enough for actual contact. Later, he even crawled into my lap and stayed for a second or two. A triumph!
The scars from his leaps off my lap have faded now.
That was years ago. I was still the only human who could get close, let alone touch him, though. Whenever husband Jack walked by, Jack the cat greeted him with a hiss and a swat.
But me? All I had to do was sit and form a lap and he came, jumped up and insisted I remain still until he decided to leave.
Anyone house sitting for us had to be reassured that yes, there really is a cat here. You will not see him, but he does need food and water. If they sought him out, they found a vicious beast cornered under the bed.
But me? As soon as I pulled the covers to my chin, he crawled up and laid on my chest, staring through the book for me to pet him.
Goodbye, friend. Maybe no one else does, but I miss you.
2 comments:
I am so sorry Cory... I am so glad that Jack had 'you' as his person. what love he must have had towards you to trust you that much. you were the angel that saved him.
joan
Cory, you brought me right into the room with you and your sweet cat. Sweet to you and that was all that mattered. I know he will always be there in that place with you. Love your words my dear./Jeane
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