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Back in the early days of this blog, I used to post about my "editorial assistants," the kittens we brought into our family in August 2009. It is with great sadness that I post here about our loss of one of these two cats, who has been such a companion to me over the past twelve years. Jack, named after C. S. Lewis (whose nickname among the Inklings was Jack), was the kitten I picked from a litter at a local shelter. The person who introduced us to the kittens told us a story about how Jack had been curious about what was inside a watering can, and he'd gotten his head stuck exploring it.
I knew he was meant to be my cat.
Jack loved to steal broccoli from our dinners. When we allowed the cats to sleep with us, he would curl up at my feet and sleep all night. (His brother, Tollers, would bat my face at 3 a.m., or try to sleep on my neck, which is why they stopped sleeping with us.) He liked to knock things off of counters and hide in boxes. He would sleep under Fish's bed, sometimes, which meant I had to go track him down at bedtime so he wouldn't get stuck behind a closed bedroom door. He would sometimes sit in the window and watch the birds outside; he'd make the craziest not-meow noise that sounded like chirping, like he was trying to trick them into coming closer.
Once, when they were still kittens, the cats got ringworm. We had to give them both baths, which is always a challenge. Tollers refused to stay in the tub, understandably. Jack, on the other hand, couldn't seem to figure out how to get OUT of the tub, and stayed there the whole time we bathed him.
Both Jack and Tollers are known for their loud purring. When they were kittens they actually woke two houseguests with the sounds of their purrs. The vet would frequently have trouble hearing Jack's heartbeat because he purred so loudly at his appointments.
When Bug was little, I told her a bedtime princess story (starring her as the princess, by request), in which the Jack-Beast and the Tollers-Monster were plaguing the land where the princess lived. Everyone tried to defeat the monsters, but the princess—who had been taking lessons in monster languages, because second languages are valuable—decided to talk to the monsters instead. It turned out they were lonely and just wanted to be part of a family, so the princess convinced them to come with her. They changed their shapes to housecats and became her loyal knights: Sir Tollers the Brave and Sir Jack the Lazy. While in hindsight that's not the most flattering title, Jack was a homebody who loved spending his time around us instead of exploring independently, and I loved that about him.
We taught both cats to come to the sound of a whistle. I tried to teach them both as kittens to ride on my shoulders, but only Jack ever really took to it, which became a challenge when he grew to thirteen pounds! He still fit. (This worked best when wearing a hoodie, though; his claws were sharp!)
One of my favorite memories of the pandemic is when Fish, a budding kindergarten writer, found Jack in his room and decided to keep a field journal. Because he was napping, Fish's notes are filled with little tidbits like, "He is not moving." But Fish, maker that he is, decided to create a pillow bed underneath his bed so that Jack could have a comfy place to be. (In Jack's last days, when he really just wanted to hide, Fish made him a hidey-hole from cardboard boxes. Jack loved it and spent most of his last two days with us just chilling in his box.)
Jack liked human food: besides broccoli, he'd snag chicken (or chicken nuggets) if we left them on the dinner table. In the last year, when his health started failing, we'd slip him more food instead of making him steal it. He was particularly fond of pork tenderloin and tuna, and the milk from my cereal bowl.
He made my life better. He made me a better person. He helped me learn what it means to raise someone, so that I got experience being a mom before I became mom to little humans. He gave me love, and laughter, and companionship. And I will miss him terribly.
(For their very early adventures, you can click the "editorial staff" tag at the Dreamwidth location of this journal entry.)
I knew he was meant to be my cat.
Jack loved to steal broccoli from our dinners. When we allowed the cats to sleep with us, he would curl up at my feet and sleep all night. (His brother, Tollers, would bat my face at 3 a.m., or try to sleep on my neck, which is why they stopped sleeping with us.) He liked to knock things off of counters and hide in boxes. He would sleep under Fish's bed, sometimes, which meant I had to go track him down at bedtime so he wouldn't get stuck behind a closed bedroom door. He would sometimes sit in the window and watch the birds outside; he'd make the craziest not-meow noise that sounded like chirping, like he was trying to trick them into coming closer.
Once, when they were still kittens, the cats got ringworm. We had to give them both baths, which is always a challenge. Tollers refused to stay in the tub, understandably. Jack, on the other hand, couldn't seem to figure out how to get OUT of the tub, and stayed there the whole time we bathed him.
Both Jack and Tollers are known for their loud purring. When they were kittens they actually woke two houseguests with the sounds of their purrs. The vet would frequently have trouble hearing Jack's heartbeat because he purred so loudly at his appointments.
When Bug was little, I told her a bedtime princess story (starring her as the princess, by request), in which the Jack-Beast and the Tollers-Monster were plaguing the land where the princess lived. Everyone tried to defeat the monsters, but the princess—who had been taking lessons in monster languages, because second languages are valuable—decided to talk to the monsters instead. It turned out they were lonely and just wanted to be part of a family, so the princess convinced them to come with her. They changed their shapes to housecats and became her loyal knights: Sir Tollers the Brave and Sir Jack the Lazy. While in hindsight that's not the most flattering title, Jack was a homebody who loved spending his time around us instead of exploring independently, and I loved that about him.
We taught both cats to come to the sound of a whistle. I tried to teach them both as kittens to ride on my shoulders, but only Jack ever really took to it, which became a challenge when he grew to thirteen pounds! He still fit. (This worked best when wearing a hoodie, though; his claws were sharp!)
One of my favorite memories of the pandemic is when Fish, a budding kindergarten writer, found Jack in his room and decided to keep a field journal. Because he was napping, Fish's notes are filled with little tidbits like, "He is not moving." But Fish, maker that he is, decided to create a pillow bed underneath his bed so that Jack could have a comfy place to be. (In Jack's last days, when he really just wanted to hide, Fish made him a hidey-hole from cardboard boxes. Jack loved it and spent most of his last two days with us just chilling in his box.)
Jack liked human food: besides broccoli, he'd snag chicken (or chicken nuggets) if we left them on the dinner table. In the last year, when his health started failing, we'd slip him more food instead of making him steal it. He was particularly fond of pork tenderloin and tuna, and the milk from my cereal bowl.
He made my life better. He made me a better person. He helped me learn what it means to raise someone, so that I got experience being a mom before I became mom to little humans. He gave me love, and laughter, and companionship. And I will miss him terribly.
(For their very early adventures, you can click the "editorial staff" tag at the Dreamwidth location of this journal entry.)
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