This morning, I held my Ragdoll cat, Jackson, in my arms as the vet helped him cross over the Rainbow Bridge. Jack's various health issues over the course of his short life finally got the better of him and I made the very painful decision to let go. The vet and I talked for a long time about the treatment Jackson could undergo today, and what the future might or might not hold for him. And while, in matters such as these, I am the eternal optimist it was difficult to disregard what I knew to be true. Jack would be put through a very extensive procedure with no guarantee that the condition would not return again, and again and again. And the vet explained that when his death finally came, it would be an excruciatingly painful one. So as much as I love to beat dead horses, I just could not deny that it was time to think of Jackson more than to think of how much I love the feel of him snuggling against my feet as I sit at the computer.
Jack was never the cuddly, sit on your lap kind of cat that I always wanted. But he showed me great affection in his own unique way. And we were buddies, he and I. When I had my back surgeries, he would lie in bed with me, only leaving to grab a bite to eat or to . . . well, you know. He never left my side. When I was sick or sad or depressed (which I have been all too often in the past few years) Jack knew and he was my shadow. While he didn't sit on my lap or in fact anywhere near me, Jack could always be found in whatever room I had wandered. He would sometimes come up to me and give me a quick little lick on the leg or arm, as if to say, "Hey, I am here and I love you. Things will get better, you'll see". And of course, they always did.
Jackson's medical issues plagued him almost from the time he came to live with us as a 12 week old kitten. He was a regular at the local university teaching hospital (where all the rarest and most difficult cases end up) and I swear we have financed an entire wing of our local veterinary office with what we paid out in medical fees for Jack. He was poked and prodded and stuffed with pills and liquids. He had drops in his eyes and goo shoved down his throat on a regular basis. In spite of it all, he retained his quirky personality and seemed to take it all in stride.
Jackson was the chattiest cat I have ever owned. He would carry on long conversations with you. I mean, real conversations. He didn't just "meow" when he wanted food or wanted attention. He would actually join in when people were talking and make his point of view known. Sometimes we would be discussing some topic or another and Jack would be sleeping nearby only to raise his head up and yammer on for some minutes as if he wanted us to know that while he did have his eyes closed he clearly heard everything we said.
Mostly what I will miss is the feeling of his sleeping body lying on top of my feet late at night when insomnia grips me and I surf the Internet with no particular purpose. His warm body and the sound of his breathing were a comfort as I sat, deep in the night, waiting for sleep to come. He would stay with me until he felt me begin to stir from my desk and he knew that I was finally headed for bed. He would run ahead of me and then stop and look back just to make sure I was coming. When we got to the bedroom, he would leap up on the bed and anxiously pace up and down the mattress on my side of the bed while I changed into my pajamas. Then, as soon as I was settled into bed, he would jump off the mattress and curl up next to the bed until I fell asleep. Perhaps he understood that it was hard for me to fall asleep and if he was on the bed it might disturb me. But each morning I would awake to find him curled up at my feet.
I will miss you, Jackie. But I know you are waiting for me and one day you will again sleep at my feet.
