When I packed my bags to go to college, Jake was confused by the commotion; he didn’t understand what it all meant.
In the early days, he would sleep in my room with me every night. I eventually couldn’t deal with his midnight cries for freedom and had to evict him. On special occasions I let him back in at night, usually when I was lonely or sad. He would cheer me up with his affections, never holding a grudge.
Sometimes Jake would get mad at us. When we went on family vacations, he would showcase his feelings by leaving little smelly surprises for us all around the house. He could only be mad for so long though, and would usually forgive us after a full meal and some headscratching.
When I came back from college for winter break, I let him sleep in my room again. We spent a lot of time together; he would follow me around the house from room to room, until I offered him a lap to lie on. He was still young and would sometimes grow tired of my lap after a few misplaced scratches. He would let me know this with a soft nip, before bolting away to the next room over. Then he’d stop and look back at briefly, before continuing on his way.
When I packed to go back to college after winter break, he jumped in to my suitcase and sat on top of my clothes. I tried to coax him out, and for the first time ever, he hissed at me. He now understood what the packing meant, and he didn’t like it.
We had loving nicknames for him, many included the word “fat.” At 14 pounds, he was a big guy. My mom bought him expensive diet food, which he quickly grew tired of. Still young and surprisingly nimble for his size, he hopped over fences into other yards and ate from neighbor cat’s bowls. He only grew larger. I would laugh every time he squeezed through our tiny cat door, legs dangling behind him, as he pulled his way through.
He started losing weight, and we found out it was because he had a tumor on his thyroid gland. He was about 14 at this point, getting a little older, but still young at heart. We switched his food again to an even more expensive special food that supposedly starved the tumor. Thankfully, it worked and he gained some weight back. He was Jake again.
College came and went and the economy crashed. I, like many recent grads, moved back in with my parents. Jake and I were best friends again. This time, he was older and calmer. He didn’t nip me anymore when I scratched him in the wrong place. He was more patient with me, and could spend hours on my lap. He sat with me as I chugged through one job application after another.
We would sometimes go outside together and hang out in the backyard. He was different with me outside. He treated me like the parent hanging out too long near their kid's middle school. Outside, he was in his element, in his jungle. He would roll around in a patch of grass, munch on some greens, chase a bird. He never sat on my lap outside.
I finally found a job and moved out on my own. I’d come by and visit as often as I could, but would usually only see Jake briefly.
Last month my mom asked if I would housesit for her. “Don’t worry if you can’t!” She said. “Tony’s friend said he could do it.” That weekend was not a very convenient weekend for me to housesit, but I thought of Jake, now 16, and realized that I didn’t care if it was convenient.
He slept with me every night again, and spent every evening parked on my lap. We even went outside for a bit. Although his joints were old and his muscles weak. He stood at the top of the stairs that lead to the garden, looking down, perhaps reminiscing about his youth. Those stairs were once a breeze to descend, now he may never play in the garden again.
He drank out of every water glass I poured for myself. He hopped on the kitchen table when I wasn’t looking. He acted like the misbehaving kitten that I knew. Though he did these things slowly, with much contemplation.
When my mom called me to tell me that wasn’t doing well, it had only been a couple weeks since I had housesat. Our whole family went with him to the vet. He had lost even more weight, and his hair had started to fall out in clumps. The vet said that his tumor had likely turned into cancer.
My dad held him as he breathed his last breath. He left this world on a warm lap, with his family around him, loving him, petting him, missing him already.
I thought back to the day when my dad and I passed those SPCA cages in the Castro. My dad convinced me to go to church that day, promising that I could eat as many baked goods as I want after the service. It was because I couldn’t say no to a free brownie that I stumbled across the cage with three adorable kittens. A couple, who was also admiring these kittens decided to adopt two of them. The SPCA volunteer disturbed the huddled sibling pile by pulling the two sisters out and leaving the little brother all alone. I told my dad that we couldn’t leave that little kitten all by himself. He would be lonely without us. Who knew that in the end, I would be the one feeling lonely without him?
