Nito, my cat, died last week.
On Tuesday, I found myself alone in an exam room with his limp, sick body in the crook of my arm and his head under my chin and I spread out a beach towel on the metal table, so he wouldn’t be cold when he died. It’s funny, how you just automatically do those things. I’ve never thought of myself as maternal in the traditional sense, but there I was, unthinkingly smoothing the terrycloth out even though I was crying so hard that I could barely see.
And then I paused with my gigantic fourteen-pound cat, with the boneless weight of him, because this would be the last time I held him. There is something sacred in that heft, like the way your shoulder feels under a baby’s head or the way your thumbs feel hooked into the belt loops of someone you love, pulling them closer. I used to pick him up every time I came home, to greet that reassuring weight that belonged to me, that I had tended.
I looked down at his enormous paws, just dangling toward the ground–whether in illness or in trust, I don’t know, but to be honest, at that point, it was probably more of the former–and I can still see them when I close my eyes, in contrast against the white tiles. That is the last thing I saw before I relinquished him–not by watching him die, but by easing him onto the table and away from me.
That was good-bye, at least for me.
Then the vet came in, and I petted his head and told him what a good boy he was, and he died, and that was it. I walked blindly out of the office with his empty carrier and fumbled my way into the car while my sister stayed behind and paid the bill.
And when I got home, after I unlocked the door and almost said hello to him, I climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling for hours, and all I kept thinking was not Nito is dead or I’ll never see him again but just What now? What now? What now? because I already felt lost–not sad as one who has lost something very dear, but thunderstruck by baffled horror, as one whose shadow has been flayed off.
Terrible, yes. Painful, yes. But mainly, so disconcertingly goddamned impossible.
Oh, I know. He was just a cat. I don’t mind. I think that’s what makes an animal lover–we don’t mind you small. We don’t mind you stupid. We don’t mind you simple. We are humbled, rather than frustrated or scornful, at your ability to be all of those things. We know that you still have gifts to give, however unknowingly, and that it is our honor to receive them. If some of us do not have babies, it has less to do with how small and stupid and simple they are (as is the common misconception) and much more to do with the fact that babies don’t stay that way. Their lessons become tangled for us the bigger they get, convoluted, nonexistent. They become mysteries, as we are mysteries. You put them in our arms and we fear them, and sometimes even mourn them, not for what they are but for what they will be in fifty years.
But Nito, thankfully, was just a cat, and perfect at it, sitting on the top of the toilet tank with his tail curled neatly around his feet while I read in the tub, or resting against my ribs while I worked on manuscripts.
This is the end of his story, and his story wasn’t anything profound. But that is the art and the joy of being just a cat.
After he died, I stepped over sweatshirts that I thought were cats. I reached down to pet the air. I said hello to no one an embarrassing number of times upon unlocking my deadbolt and stepping into my house. I lay awake each night, crying, because I couldn’t remember how to power down without a purring cat to stay still for.
I’ll get a new cat in a few weeks, a month, I said. I shouldn’t do it now. I should wait. It makes more sense to wait.
I don’t think anyone believed me, which is why on Friday, after three days of pathetic foundering, I received a brisk phone call from my mother telling me to come down to Petsmart and sign for this cat she was going to get me. And I want to tell you I rolled out of bed and pulled on some pants because it is impossible to argue with my mother. But that’s not why I got up, not really.
I met him with a disproportionate amount of fear in my mouth, considering that a sock-footed, pink-nosed, gray-striped tabby cat is not typically a very intimidating sight. And the rest of the story goes the way it has gone every single time an animal needing a home has found its way into my lap.
I woke up this morning with a cat in my armpit, is what I’m telling you: head up under my chin, paws stretched across my chest, butt in the crook of my elbow.
He isn’t Nito, and he isn’t ever going to be Nito. He is just Winston.
I’m realizing all over again, though, that just is more than good enough.
34 Comments
I am so sorry for your loss. They are never “just” a pet, don’t feel you should minimize his importance. We lost our dog Murray after a sudden inexplicable illness in January, and I still miss him everyday. I am very glad you have Winston, it’s too hard to come home to a quiet house. Man, I’m such a softy.
So I follow you on Twitter, and while I’ve never before cared one whit about another person’s pet- not EVER- I really liked Nito. It’s such an odd thing to admit, but I really really like him. Even odder, I was… well, very sad when I found out he died. Like, it popped into my head every hour or two and I felt a down and bummed each time.
I’m not sure how this happened, really, as I haven’t been reading your blog for very long, and you didn’t write all that often about him… but there you have it. I simply couldn’t imagine a “replacement” for Nito, until I saw the photo of your new Winston, and he seems perfect.
I’m sorry for your loss, and I guess I just wanted you to know that I was a Nito fan, too.
I am so sorry about Nito. You’ve been in my thoughts since I read about everything on Twitter. I’m glad you have Winston now, and I hope he helps you heal.
Again, I am so sorry about Nito. You write so beautifully and eloquently about the pain that comes from the loss of a pet. I am so glad you’ve found a new friend in Winston.
This made me cry and cry because there really is something special about having a cat. I hope Winston helps your heart heal. Take good care.
oh man. So sorry about your cat. I lost one of mine a few years ago and I was utterly stunned at home much it affected me, especially when I had known, really, for YEARS that it would eventually come to that.
It’s awful and sad and made even worse by the fact our brains take a long time to break the habit of their presence.
Winston looks adorable! Kudos to your Mom for taking care of this for you.
Nito was well loved, and he will be missed. But Winston looks like he’s going to be a good cat too. My condolences on your loss, and my congratulations on your new cat.
I’m so sorry to hear about your cat. I’ve lost a few pets in my time too, and it’s always a very sad time. They are members of the family.
Winston looks beautiful though! You’re right, he’ll never replace Nito, but there is room in your heart to love a different kitty.
I’m so sorry for your loss.
That made me cry so hard, not because of your story, but because of mine. Winston. I lived with the best cat named Winston and when my BF moved out, he took Winston – his cat, after all – with him. Ah. I miss him. I can’t believe this is the only photo I have of him – and he is just a cat-shaped shadow in the background: http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/2091011139/
Oh, Jen. You have me all weepy here – so sorry about Nito.
Winston looks pretty rad – I’m so glad he found you.
I’m so sorry about Nito. What a sweet kitty he was. Very glad you have a new friend.
I’m so sorry about sweet Nito. You received many gifts from him, yes, and he from you. Winston looks like excellent therapy.
I’m so sorry. Nito was awesome, and I’m so sorry that he couldn’t be with you for longer.
Winston looks like a wonderful fellow, and I (and my mother, who’s sitting next to me) send him many belly rubs.
Oh, I’m so sorry. I still remember vividly finding my cat dead in the street 4 years ago. My husband and I held him until he started to go stiff (yuck, yes), sobbing all the way. It is sad to lose those little fools, but I’ve concluded that the important part is to give them a good home for a while. I know Nito had it wonderful with you, and it’s fantastic that you’re doing the same for Winston now. Hope you two will have a blast together.
I hate losing pets. I’m sorry. And Winston will never be the same, but maybe he’ll help with the hurt.
this has to be one of the more painful entries i’ve read in a long time. you’ve described the ease in loving a pet so perfectly.
i don’t know where i’d be without moose the cat.
Thanks, guys. I miss Nito, but Winston is settling in well, and I love him for being his own little kitty self. It’s been fun watching him make a lot of Nito’s old discoveries, along with quite a few of his own.
For instance, did you know that there is a lot of dust behind the refrigerator?
Reading of your loss made me cry. Partly because it reminded me of my own loss, but also because I knew that someone else just lost a piece of their heart. The toughest part is realizing just how empty the house feels without them. I’m glad you have Winston there with you.
Thanks for making me cry. I’m so sorry for your loss and so happy for your new member.
I lost my furboy Keyser Soze after only have him for 1 year and he was hit by a car, I had to find him. I was devastated and I still to this day…8 years later…think of him. I have 2 cats now but they all stay with me.
Aw Jen, I’m so sorry.
For you, I’ll even wait a month, before I start teasing you about your Winston Tweets.
He was not just a cat. I have 2 legged children and my 4 legged ones are almost just as dear to me (I say “almost” because I don’t want the mom police after me). I have grieved for long periods of time over 4 legged children. I’m glad you got another one to help you through your emptiness.
I’m so moved by this post – especially since I was remembering my own loss at this time last year. You’re right -they are what they are, but what they are is something wonderful and well…life-changing. I’m so happy that you found Winston and after seeing his photo on Twitter, I cried at the love that this cat would now receive after perhaps giving up all hope. I felt the same way when we gave a home to our new dog – I never thought I could love another one the same way – and I don’t, but I love him just as much. Much love to both of you – he’s just adorable (and I’m totally more of a dog person, so that means a lot).
This was beautiful, friend.
That was really lovely, and as I’m sure you’ve heard and read 100 times, I can totally sympathize with your loss, as a lover of many animals throughout my life.
Winston is a smoosh. Enjoy
I’m so sorry. No beloved animal is ever “just”.
I love Winston’s one pink toe.
I don’t think I’ve commented before and I must admit that I visit blogs fairly infrequently, but yours is one of the ones I have saved in my favourites. I just wanted to comment tonight to say thank you. Thank you for this post. It is so beautiful. My favourite furry friend ever died last December after fighting an illness and almost winning and it was completely devastating. You wrote about those last few moments so perfectly – I have a few of my own “distilled images” embedded, probably forever.
I’m very sad to hear about Nico, but at the same time I’m hopeful to hear that you are healing with a new furry friend. Winston looks like an absolute sweetheart.
I was so sorry to read about Nito, and so glad to read about Winston. They are both lucky kitties to be so well-loved.
Oh I’m so sorry! A pet is a friend and yes, I suppose that is what makes us animal-overs: the ability to recognise that. Winston’s cute though. And he seems super-affectionate which is lovely. My cat’s a bitch. I love her, but she’s arrogant and anti-social. Actually, that’s probably why I love her.
My 21 year old cat died last fall. Irony of ironies, his name was Winston.
We were NOT going to get another cat until we can properly retire, move to a big house, get a kitten and a puppy at the same time in the hope they would grow up loving each other, and THEN, Teddy found me not two weeks later (http://veronicawaldsamusingmusings.blogspot.com/2009/10/well-it-really-is-funny-how-things.html). The amazing thing about Teddy is that he looks much like your new kitty! How he has filled our lives with fun and love, may your new cat do the same for you!
Beautiful post and those little socks! He’s like something out of Beatrix Potter.
I found this via another blog and just randomly clicked. Now I am sitting here with tears streaming down my face about to go give my two kitties, Cleo and Sophie a cuddle.
What a sad, beautiful and ultimately hopeful post. Thank you for that, and hello to the little, pink-toed Winston!
I’ve also just found your blog and I also have tears. One of my cats is eighteen years old which already makes him a bit of a freak of nature, I feel like I’m holding my breath whenever I look at him laying out in the sun.
And they’re never ‘just’ pets, be it a cat or a dog. They become part of your family. You’re allowed to grieve for a family member.
Winston looks like he’s made himself quite at home there
I just re-read this post and it is the thing that has made the most sense to me since my dad died. Funny, that.
“This is the end of his story, and his story wasn’t anything profound. But that is the art and the joy of being just a cat.”
Just like dad. Thanks. Really.
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