Our last night snuggling together. Photo by Dean.

We said goodbye to you on Saturday afternoon, warm in the sun, in the back yard that you had come to enjoy so much, and I’ve thought of little else since. Aside from missing you horribly, I worry about you. I worry about where you are now and how you were feeling in those last moments. I hope that you are at peace and pain free. I hope that you’re not upset with us. We really did our very best.

I know you didn’t like it when we had a stranger come over to the house, but we thought it would be easier for you to have someone come to us, rather than bring you to the vet. We figured we could have the whole day together, doing whatever you wanted and giving you all of your favorite things. And I think we did that! You had all fresh new food all day, we gave you raw chicken, we stayed in bed and snuggled with you for hours. I’m going to miss snuggling with you, so that was for me too. We watched a movie together and you got to sit in my lap. I tried not too pet you too much, because I know you’ve been sensitive lately. We went for walks outside whenever you wanted. I lifted you up to sit on top of the stone wall so you could finally get a look at what was on the other side. Sorry, I couldn’t let you go farther. A few weeks ago, you would have been able to jump that wall on your own.

Still from a video I took on April 30th. Running after bugs in the yard. The following day I got the ‘unfixable liver’ news. I’m glad I have this video.

I had to give you fluids on Friday morning. You didn’t like it, but I do think it helped you on Saturday. I’m glad we got to have a day of no medicine (other than your laxative, because you love it so much) and just being together. I hated giving you anti nausea pills after you threw up. I hated shooting liquid antibiotics into your mouth. I’m glad you finally started eating the milk thistle supplement with your chicken so that I didn’t have to squirt that one any longer. I think I hated all of those things worse that you did, but we did them. You were so good about it, and I tried to get better and better at it so that it would go quicker. I practiced doing B12 injections on a needle-free syringe so that my fingers would memorize the mechanics. I wished there was a way to explain to you that all these things helped us stay together longer and gave you better quality of life for a while.

I was watching videos of you (I took a lot of pictures and videos of you during quarantine) and one in particular showed us enjoying the yard on a Thursday evening, about three weeks ago. You were on your leash and running through the grass, pouncing on something that I couldn’t see. It was only a few weeks ago, and you don’t move like that anymore. I think that may have been the last time I saw you run. I knew that one thing I didn’t want to do to you was to keep you around too long just to be with me. I wish we could have talked about it in a way you could understand. I wish I could have had your opinion, that you could have told me how you felt. I tried to pay attention. I kept a diary of your days.

You seemed to be having trouble walking. Not just more slowly, you held yourself differently. Although you were eating, you were eating less and less and you kept losing weight. You would still purr when I held you and you would still wake me for snuggles, most of the time, but you seemed increasingly more uncomfortable. You were still my little Jakey, your personality was still mostly there and you were trying to be a bright happy guy, that’s just who you always were. I think that’s what made it so hard. You still seemed to love so much.

After we made the appointment, I cried and cried. I walked around North Nashville crying in the sun. When I finally came back, I just wanted to be nearby. I laid down as close and quietly as possible, trying not to disturb. At some point, Dean took … — After we made the appointment, I cried and cried. I walked around North Nashville crying in the sun. When I finally came back, I just wanted to be nearby. I laid down as close and quietly as possible, trying not to disturb. At some point, Dean took this picture.

I had so many tough conversations in my head those last two days after we made your appointment. A few people asked if I was ready to let you go. The truth is, I would never, ever, ever have been ready to let you go, Jake. And I’ll be honest, I don’t think you would have ever been ready to leave me. I’ve never had anyone love me and trust me as much as you did. And I didn’t think it was possible for me to love anyone the way I loved you. I had to be the one to make this decision for us. And I’m still beating myself up over it every day. I’ve been told this is normal.

I’m so upset that the first injection scared you. It was supposed to be a painkiller with some sedative to allow you some final, pain-free, peaceful moments. I was so distressed and sobbing; I’m worried my emotions affected you. You started to bite me, reflexively, and made yourself stop when you realized it was me you were biting. I feel terrible about that moment. I don’t know when or if I’ll ever get over that. I was hoping that your whole experience would be calm and peaceful.

During the move here. We may not have had furniture, but we had each other. Another photo by Dean.

The doctor said that you would be able to hear us longer than see or smell us after the sedative took effect, so I tried to talk to you. I don’t know if you heard all of it, because it took a few minutes for me to calm down. I told you what a wonderful cat you were and how everyone who met you loved you. I reminded you about all of the adventures we had together and all of the places that you had been, and what a wonderful presence you had been in my life. I didn’t want to let you go. Even after you were gone, I didn’t want to let you go.

I held you for a long time and kissed you and cried. I gently pulled your tail through the circle of my fingers like I’ve always done, but instead of rippling out of my hand, it just fell to the floor. Even when you were sleeping, your tail was never inert. You weren’t there anymore. The doctor had a nice basket for you with a soft pillow and blanket. She helped me lift you inside and tuck you in. You looked just like you were taking a nap. She offered to be your pallbearer and take you to the car, but I wanted to do it. I needed to be with you as long as I could. Once you were secure in the front seat, I gave you a few last kisses. I tried to breathe in your scent, but you didn’t smell like you anymore. I tried twice. I knew you were really gone, but I hated letting you go in that car and leave without me.

I did my best, Jakey, I tried so hard to do what I thought was best for you and I am so heartbroken. For a few moments I’ll be okay, and I’ll be able to do normal things, then I’ll think I hear you in another room, or see you out of the corner of my eye, and my heart will break open again. I’ve left my yoga mat on the floor because you stepped on it at some point and left dirty paw prints. I don’t want to wipe them away. I can’t listen to music when I run because all of the songs are about you, even the stupid fitness songs, and I’ll cry even more than I already do.

I don’t want to forget how it felt when you woke me up with snuggles and purrs. Or how soft your fur was when I kissed the side of your fuzzy face. So I think about them over and over. It hurts, but I don’t want to forget. I made a little memorial movie of you with all of the videos that I have on my phone and put it to music. Originally, I thought I would share it for everyone to see, but then I saw that it was almost half an hour long. Also, I owned none of the rights to any of the music. So I’ve just been watching it myself.

I read that writing a letter to you might help me get through the guilt. I was thinking about writing to you anyway. I miss you. On Sunday, they brought your ashes back to us. I made you a little spot on the bookshelf near my side of the bed with your paw print and the fur clipping that they left with us. You felt safest in the bedroom, so that’s where you are. On Monday, I brought all of the unused medicine and the unopened bag of prescription food to your vet. She said they would find a pet in need and donate it to them. I’ve packed up all of your toys, your water fountain, your scratching post, your beds and hosed out your litter box. They’re all in a place together in the attic, right above our bedroom. I can’t throw any of it out or give it away. Not now. I forgot your window seat though, so it remains. The blinds are still lifted part way to provide an unobstructed view for you. I’m going to leave it there for now. Maybe your spirit will come visit me and hover there while I’m working.

Sleeping and waking are the worst. You used to get so excited when I would get ready for bed. Prancing on the comforter, bright-eyed, with audible little meow-chirps. It was your favorite little bit of snuggle time. I could tell you wanted to snuggle at the end, but you would get hot, or in some way uncomfortable, and have to move away after a few seconds. I have to hug a pillow for right now. I can’t go to sleep without my right arm around something.

I had a dream about you Sunday night after they brought you home. I won’t go into all of the odd details. Let’s just set the scene by saying I was having a weird standoff in a dingy in my parents’ pond with some threatening Amish people in a motor boat (I know). From no where, you jumped into the water at my side and began swimming at them. You were always my little protector. I grabbed you and hugged you and told you how much I had missed you. I petted you nonstop and told you over and over that I loved you and that I had missed you so much. You started purring. The alarm went off and I woke up.

Another picture by Dean. Most of these I didn’t know existed until this week.

I don’t pretend to know what happens when you die. I think that something happens. I don’t think that you just cease to exist. I don’t know if your energy becomes part of the cosmos, or if you hang around for a while, checking on people. Maybe you go right away into some new adventure, and you’re already another animal, maybe you’re even becoming a person this time. Maybe there really is a ‘Rainbow Bridge’ and you’ll frolic up there with all of your friends. You’ll see Gatsby, Henri and Hedwig and maybe I’ll get to see you again someday. Or maybe your soul is the same as my soul, and when I die, I’ll meet you in some weird place where we don’t have bodies or faces, but we’ll know each other anyway. I would like that. Say hi to Grandma if that’s the case.

Speaking of grandma, I’m planning on making you a little space in the backyard and bordering it with her tulips. Then I can come say hi to you both when the weather is nice. Originally, we thought about burying you there, but then what would we do if we moved? Also, I don’t know that I could ever have buried you, now that I’ve been through the end. We discussed burying some of your ashes there, and eventually taking some to each of the places you loved. I knew at first I would want to just keep you with me. And now that I think about it, your favorite place was always when we were together. So I think I may just keep us together.

You were the best companion ever, Jake, for sixteen years, one month and two days. And I tried my very, absolute hardest to be the best to you. I love you, Poobah. I love you so much, it hurts. Goodbye for now.

Dear Jake,