I’ve written several versions of this entry. Each one with a slightly different tone. Probably because my emotions are all over the place.

I had these guys for nine days. We brought them home from a party. I wept each time one died.

I’ve had several pets in my lifetime. Cats; Lassie, Fred, Sasha, Hedwig and Jake. Fish; Butch, Sundance, Morgan, Doc and Jesse James. The first four fish were goldfish, the last one was a beta fish. I gave up on fish after Jesse James. It made me too sad when they died and they didn’t live long enough.

Lassie died when I was sixteen. Our family got her when I was in third grade and she was six months old. We loved Lassie. She went on so many adventures with us. We carried her around with us in backpacks with her head sticking out (we called it our papoose), we dressed her up in scarves and hats, we gave her flea baths in the laundry room sink, she went with us on many of our family vacations. She walked on a leash! She fell into the marina once and I jumped in after her. She came home after having been shot with a BB gun but survived many years afterward. She was eventually diagnosed with FIP and we had to let her go. She was the first soul that I ever watched leave. And for a long time, that was my saddest memory.

The smaller cat is Lassie. The larger one is me.

Fred and Sasha were grown cats when we got them. Their owner had become too sick to take care of them and wanted them to be adopted together. I loved Fred. Ostensibly, Fred was supposed to be ‘mine’ and Sasha was supposed to be my sister’s cat. Fred was great. I made him a little spot in my room with a carpet sample and toys and he actually slept there and knew that it was his. He liked to be held belly up like a baby. He was thin and dignified. We took Fred and Sasha to the vet to get their shots and Fred jumped out of the car afterward, leaping a six foot fence and running off into the woods. We set a cage up to trap him and tried for months to find him, but he was gone. I was sad, but always hoped that maybe he found another family.

We had Sasha for years after that. When she purred, she sounded like a dove cooing. When she meowed, she sounded like an angry lady with a smoking problem. She was the most good-natured cat ever. She loved being held and loved sitting in your lap. She was also very jealous. We rescued a kitten from a construction site once and Sasha was not having it. We had to find it another home. For some reason, her nickname became Cubby. When I was a sophomore in college, Sasha was diagnosed with throat cancer and found eating and drinking increasingly more difficult. The lady she had lived with before us was a smoker with cancer, so we figured that Sasha had succumbed to the second-hand smoke. My birthday was on a Monday that year and, after a rough weekend for Sasha, my parents couldn’t put it off any longer. She died the day I turned twenty.

When I moved to Chicago, one of the first things my roommate, Brandon, and I did was go out and adopt a cat. Hedwig was beautiful. They estimated that she was about three years old when we got her. Although Brandon and I had adopted her together, she clearly became my cat early on, and lived with me when we eventually parted ways. Hedwig loved me, and not many other people. She was with me through my first big heartbreak. She flew on planes with me when I went home for Thanksgiving and Christmas. She would let me hold her and dance with her around my apartment for hours to whatever songs I was into at the time. In July of 2004, I decided that Hedwig needed a friend and I adopted Jake. He was the most adorable, black and white kitten you had ever seen. He was four months old and I could pick him up with one hand. He loved to play, he loved people, he loved Hedwig.

She hated him.

He was PePe La Pew to her French Kitty. He would stand on top of the litter box when she was using it to ‘surprise’ her when she came out. They did eventually play together, but Hedwig would only allow it when she thought I wasn’t looking. One Christmas, I brought them both home, and my sister brought her two cats, Gatsby and Henri home at the same time. That week, Hedwig did team up with Jake when faced with sharing space with two other strange cats.

Sasha was never overly concerned with dignity.

August to September of 2006 was rough for me. I lost my job. I finally broke it off with a long term, live-in boyfriend of over four years, and Hedwig suddenly became very ill. They didn’t know what exactly was wrong with her, only that she wasn’t producing new red blood cells. She had seemed to be sleeping a lot and low appetite, so I took her in to get checked out. They called and gave me the news of her blood results a day later, but I couldn’t process it. My sister was working for a vet at the time and asked me to send her the results. She called me after receiving them and said that there was nothing that could be done. The day I had to put her to sleep was devastating. I cried the entire day and pretty much spent the day in bed because my head hurt so badly.

Since then, Jake has been my partner.

He has always been the most joyful soul. He loves everyone. I’ve only met two people that he did not like and they were definitely not great humans. The longest we’ve ever been apart was when I went to Paris and London to fight first, and see my friends afterward, for two weeks in 2008. I had a team of friends come by to feed and play with him. I was told that he was playful and cuddly when they were there, but that the longer I was gone, the less he ate. We were both so happy to see each other when I came home. Unless I was leaving the country, I brought him to just about every vacation. When Dean and I would leave for trips, we always had a friend stay at the condo to be with Jake if possible. We would receive many pictures of him curled up in laps or napping cheek to cheek. He became everyone’s buddy.

I understand that sixteen years is a great long life for a cat to have. I’ve never had a pet live so long as Jake. And calling Jake a ‘pet’ feels weird to me. It doesn’t adequately describe my bond with him. We’ve been through so much together. Aside from my immediate family, I’ve never lived with another being as long as I’ve lived with Jake.

When you bring an animal into your family, you do so knowing that chances are very good that you will outlive them and that eventually you will have to say goodbye. Dying peacefully while asleep is apparently even more rare in animals than in humans and unrealistic to hope for. Most of the time, it comes down to making a decision to help them out of life. This is something that you know you’re going to have to eventually do. Of course, it’s not something anyone dwells on. I’ve known that I would probably come to this time with Jake, but I told myself, and everyone else, that Jake was going to live forever. And while I knew that wasn’t true, I think I did manage to convince myself that he might make it to twenty. Maybe even beyond. He has always been so healthy. Other than a urinary tract infection seven years ago (which was AWFUL for all of us) his only trips to the vet were for annual check ups. He always weighed the exact same 9.5 pounds every visit. Until two years ago, when it dropped to 9. Then last year, when it dropped again.

Just getting older, I thought. He’s a little skinny, but he’s got years.

Hedwig destroying catnip toys while Jake looks on.

He was acting weird around the litter box a month ago and I brought him in, worried about another urinary tract infection. We found liver and gallbladder problems instead. We tried a few treatments and things didn’t improve. Last week, the vet called to tell me that this was not fixable. The best we could do was slow it down and make him as happy and comfortable as possible. I always knew this would be hard.

I didn’t know it would be as hard as it has been.

I want to appreciate every day I have left with him, but I’m often just consumed with the knowledge that he’s leaving me so much sooner than I ever thought. He had a couple of good days recently and I was ecstatic. During those days I was productive. I got things done. I also took Jake outside and let him lay in the grass often. He tried to catch some birds. I thought maybe he was turning this around and getting a second wind.

The very first picture I ever took of Jake.

I told everyone who I talked to that I knew that this could just be a couple of good days. That this didn’t mean he was going to be 100% again. That there would be bad days again and hopefully they would be outnumbered by the good ones. I said this, and I knew it to be true.

This morning he wasn’t purring. He wasn’t snuggling. I found some vomit by his litter box. I gave him an anti nausea pill and will pick up more after work today. He’s been sleeping all day. Crashed out. Not interested in food. Not drinking water. And I’m crying again. Because it’s one thing to know something and another thing to experience it. The best I can do is take it one day at a time.

Jake is still here. He’s still my buddy. I don’t know how long he’ll be here. I want to hope for another year, but I probably shouldn’t. And yet I am. I can’t help it. I’m hoping. I’m also not going to let him suffer. And if it gets too bad, I’m not going to hang on too long just for me. Dean and I have already talked about what we’d like to do when the time comes. With Hedwig, I didn’t have the chance to make those decisions in advance. So I suppose this is a blessing. It’s still so hard to watch my sweet boy fade away. It may be the hardest thing I’ve done. I wish I could ask him what he wants. Well, I can ask. I wish he could tell me.

It’s still worth it. He has been a wonderful part of my life. He is still a wonderful part of my life. I love him so so much. And I always will. My life is richer for having Jake in it.

Untitled love story