I Didn’t Want a Kitten

One of the hazards of working in a vet clinic is the number of temptations (meaning animals that need/want homes) is innumerable.

I’m not the best at resisting.

But 14 years ago, when one of the vets I worked with brought in 4 kittens, 5 words about undid me.

“You know you want one.”

I didn’t. I really didn’t. I had a housemate with 8 cats, and two of my own in the house, to say nothing of the one that lived in the barn.

I really, really didn’t want a kitten.

They were cute. Some kind of Norwegian Forest Cat mixes. One was a pretty black medium haired beauty with piercing green eyes. Her two littermates were black and white. In the adjoining cage was one lonely survivor of the other litter.

A sickly, little gray and white ball of fluff.

I didn’t want a kitten.

I brought home two.

The black beauty, who I inventively named Kochka (Cat in Czech, I know. So creative and original, right?)

And the gray and white. His name? Jack. Soon to be Jack Jack, Mr. Smooshy Cat, Smoosh Smoosh, and a variety of other monikers all sung in a baby voice.

Kochka remained too dignified for that sort of thing.

They both blossomed. Kochka into a bowling ball of black terror, ready to grab your hand with force if you stopped petting her before she decreed you were done.

Jack was always the goofball. He had a trilling meow, huge motor, and uncanny knack for finding anyone allergic as soon as they strolled into the house, frequently parking himself on the arm of whatever chair they chose. His long gray hair stuck to EVERYTHING.

I had to hand out Claritin like candy.

He loved everyone. Even when they didn’t love him.

He let Ellie use him as a squeak toy when she was a puppy. He’d poke his head out the cat door just to screw with the hounds. He’d come upstairs every morning, trilling hello outside my door. I’d let him in for a quick snuggle before my day started.

A few months ago, he started losing weight. The vet discovered a growth in his abdomen. With the miracle of steroids, we bought some more time.

But we knew it was a losing battle. He still trilled, he purred, but he’d lost his spark.

Today, we let him go.

May the floors be ever heated and the beds forever soft, my sweet Jack