Remarkablogger

I always thought that if reincarnation were real, one the best ways by far to come back would be as a housecat and take a turn living the easy life. Somebody must’ve been really good in a past life to come back as my cat. About twelve years ago, soon after I first got together with the woman that would become my wife and her three children, we took a trip to the Humane Society to get a cat. I knew I wanted a black cat, and I recall there were two. One wanted nothing to do with me and didn’t take too kindly to being handled. The other draped himself across the crook of my arm and started to pur. I found my cat.

We named him Mojo. He was a black self. A self is a cat where everything is all one color: nose, whiskers, paw pads all were black as moonshadow. Yellow-green eyes always stared at you like he expected you to do something for him, if only you could figure out what it was. In many ways, he was very un-catlike. When I arrived home from work, he’d greet me almost like a dog would. He craved heat and warmth and curled up in my lap every chance he could. When we lived in a house with a wood burning stove, he actually napped directly under. I thought he’d burn himself, but he never did. Whenever you said anything to him, he’d meow right back. We had many conversations.

He was one of my best friends for over twelve years, and was a symbol of us becoming a family (the kids were eleven and sixteen). As he got older and fatter, he slept more and sought comfort where ever he could.

Over the last month or so, a kind of cancerous tumor had been growing in his mouth under his tongue, where we couldn’t see it. We had no idea. Suddenly his mouth was misshapen; his jaw looked askew as if it were broken. He couldn’t hardly eat (unimaginable for him) and was obviously in pain. The vet looked at him for about five seconds, then told us the news. It happend just like that. There wasn’t much of a choice.

And the truth is, it was more than I could have hoped for. I knew he was old and would probably die, soon. And one thing I didn’t want was for him to suffer through something chaotic, painful, and inexplicable. They gave him an injection of narcotics to ease his pain and a final dose to put him under. As his life slowly ebbed away, I held him in my arms just like when I first picked him up at the animal shelter years ago. I was glad to at least be with him when he went.

Goodbye, old friend. Rest in peace.