Goodbye, my dear friend

As I posted in an earlier entry, my cat, my pet since childhood, was in declining health for a few month. On Tuesday, October 6th–just a few days short of her 14th birthday–she died. Peacefully and safe in her home, she went to sleep and did not wake up.

I miss her terribly, and anyone who has ever lost their childhood pet can understand how much the pain of her loss stings. I am glad she is not suffering and that she’s now in a place of peace, but our home will never seem the same without her there.

When I knew we were entering our last days with her–a visit to the vet confirming that news–I took a few photos with her. Including the picture above. I am really glad I did.

She was very loyal to us in the family but terrified of people and sounds she didn’t know. As independent as cats generally are, Patches was exceptionally so–the firstborn in her litter, things were always fiercely on her terms. She did not like being manhandled or even picked up, she did not like people walking near her, she did not like people ignoring her. She would give you a slightly irritated look if you stopped petting her before she was satisfied. She would wake us with very loud meowing every morning, the Patches Reveille and Reminder that it was time for her breakfast!

But she was like our family’s shadow. Wherever we gathered in the house–the dining room, kitchen, or TV room–it would be a matter of moments before we would hear a familiar “chk chk chk” of her claws on the floor and hear the patter of her feet as she sat near us. Never on our laps and rarely right next to us, but just in our vicinity. Just to be around us, so we could protect her and she could watch over us.

The only exception was with me, when I was sleeping. In high school and college, I knew as soon as I got into bed, it would be only a matter of moments until she would run up the stairs to join me. It was our nightly ritual that she would nudge her snout in the crack of the slightly ajar door, forcing it open, and then she’d leap onto the foot of my bed and walk up to where I sat, curling up on my left side underneath my arm, with her face towards the window.

For most of her life, she was a butterball. Very rotund, so I nicknamed her ‘Squishy.’ She also had the softest fur of any cat I had ever known. Even when her health declined, her fur stayed as silky soft as ever. It wasn’t her diet –she was just blessed with an extraordinary soft coat the likes of which I really have never felt on another cat.

Having Patches as my pet and friend for almost 14 years was the best gift of my life. I hope one day to own another pet, but no future pet will ever replace how dear Patches was to me.

With her death, the last vestige of my childhood is gone. She kept me company, superbly loyal and comforting through my formative years. Even when it felt like I was going to hell and back, she was there–a constant comfort, never questioning, never criticizing, just there. Asking only that I pet her on the head, rub her on the tummy, and feed her an occasional treat. In return, she never wavered.

I can’t imagine what growing up would have been like without her companionship, and I will be forever grateful for her presence in my life.

I miss you, kitty. Rest in peace.