The kids and I were living in a rental house when we got Pika, our first cat, the one pet we were allowed to have there. After we bought our current house, one of the kids’ first questions was how soon we could get another cat, now that WE COULD HAVE AS MANY AS WE WANTED!
One more, I told them. Maybe two. Eventually. Maybe.
But for sure we’d get one more.
That summer we picked out a date that made sense based on my work travel schedule and counted down until it was time to head to our favorite local cat shelter.
In the Kitten Room, the kids sat on the floor oohing and ahhing over the sweet babies. It didn’t take long before a particular black kitten caught their attention. He was the one. They were sure.
The kids named him Bob.
We brought him home and fell head over heels in love. Bob loved to cuddle and would curl up and sleep in the crook of my neck under my chin whenever I lay down and gave him the chance. When I sat at my desk to work, he would often sleep on my nap.
One evening when the kids were gone, I sat down on the couch to eat dinner in front of the TV. Bob came trotting down the stairs, saw me sitting there, and rushed over to me, loudly mewing at me like he was scolding me for not letting him know I had a lap available.
The kids fought over who got to hold him. The neighbor girl would come over to play with my kids… and Bob. Bob spent much of Thanksgiving tucked into the front pocket of my niece’s hoodie. He was a lover, and everyone loved him.
One day in early December, he came into my office while I was working. He went to jump up onto my lap like normal, and he missed. He didn’t quite get high enough and fell back to the ground. A couple days later, he lost his balance walking on the edge of my desk and fell.
Then he started peeing in my bathroom sink.
Of all the places a cat could choose to pee, a sink really isn’t so bad, but still.
Something was weird.
The next Saturday morning, I noticed Bob wobbling while he walked, like he was trying to pass a field sobriety test and failing miserably. The next morning, he was worse. Something was definitely wrong.
That afternoon, I took him to an emergency vet.
Over the course of the next two weeks, we were in an out of the vet’s office. Bob was sick. The vets weren’t sure if the problem was neurological – possibly a birth defect – or if he had a virus. They put him on a prescription medication that had no effect. He started struggling to eat, so I would feed him chicken baby food that he could lick out of the palm of my hand. Walking got increasingly difficult, so we carried him everywhere and kept him in a bedroom with the door closed so he wouldn’t fall down the stairs.
Our older cat, Pika, had never taken to him. In retrospective, I wonder if she could tell that he was sick and kept her distance. She remained healthy, so I’m grateful.
Bob got weaker and tinier. He lost a third of his body weight in a matter of weeks. We didn’t know exactly what was wrong, but the veterinarians who saw him all said the same thing: he wasn’t likely to live much longer.
He didn’t seem to be in pain yet, but his body was clearly shutting down, so we made plans to have him put to sleep before he would have to suffer.
We picked Monday, December 21, 2015 as his final day. That gave us the weekend to love on him, to hold him, to take pictures and videos, and to make memories.
That evening, three years ago today, the kids said their goodbyes and went to their dad’s for the night. I gave myself a few minutes to lay on the couch with Bob curled up in his spot tucked under my chin, and then I took him to the vet.
The vet tech ushered me quickly into a room toward the back of the building which was obviously designed to try to be comfortable and comforting. Bob and I sat back there and chatted while the vet got things ready.
At one point, Bob leaned toward me and touched his nose to his neck, like he was kissing me goodbye.
I held him on my lap when the vet administered the drugs that first put him to sleep and then stopped his heart. I was a sobbing, blubbering, snot-streaming-down-my-face mess.
The hardest thing about being a single parent is being solely responsible for so many decisions day in and day out. Deciding what to do for Bob, having to look into my kids’ doe eyes and explain what was happening throughout those weeks… That night, leaving the vet’s office with Bob wrapped up in a box, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alone. So utterly and completely on my own.
The weather had been warm enough that my son and I were able to dig a hole in the hill in the backyard and bury Bob. It snowed a couple days later, like God was tucking him in for us.
We plant flowers there every spring.
We still talk about Bob often, with a certain level of reverence. He was an amazing little kitty, and it was truly a privilege to be the one to care for him. Bob knew he was loved. That’s the one thing I know for sure.