The Gift My Cat Gave: A Heartfelt Journey.

Like most of us, seventeen years ago my life was completely different. I was living in Killeen, TX waiting to get married. It was the first time living away from my family. Killeen is a small army town about an hour north of Austin. Outside of the army base Killeen is made up of bars, tattoo parlors and strip clubs. Growing up in the suburbs of Ohio, I was out of my element. I was in the middle of nowhere with no friends and a fiancé I barely knew. Whenever I found myself homesick, got upset or was angry I couldn’t take off in my car, drive to a friend’s house, or my parents to talk it out as I normally would. I was smack dab in the middle of the lone star state with a man I didn’t even know.

I didn’t have any friends when I first arrived, but I did have a house and a lot of time to fill. My fiancé loved to fish, and I often accompanied him to the lake for lack of anything else to do. On one such trip I found an abandoned kitten curled up next to its dead mother. I had to keep it. Unfortunately, my fiancé refused to let me name our kitten. We argued over it, but I lost, and he named the kitten Buddy. I was annoyed with my fiancé’ yet happy to have this new companion.

Buddy was a rascal as most kittens are. He very much enjoyed keeping me up by running throughout the house all night long. One of his favorite things to do was lightly touch my face with his paw at 3am. Looking back, it was sweet and funny, but after a few weeks I was exhausted from lack of sleep. He never bothered my fiancé. I loved that cat, but I was very much annoyed and resentful of the sleep my fiancé was getting.

I came home from work one day and found Buddy staring under our couch. He wouldn’t budge. I got on my hands and knees to see what had him so entranced. As I peered into the darkness, I saw two eyes staring back at me. Thirty mins later a sweet six-month-old tabby cat crawled out. My fiancé got a kitten for our kitten. He explained to me that a soldier had been deployed overseas and was planning on letting this kitten outside to survive on its own. My fiancé wasn’t going to let that happen. The best part was this time I even got to name him. I knew instantly this darling cat’s name was Scooter.

Texas was the first of two states that Scooter and I would live in together. Over the years we would live in two different states and five different houses. We eventually left Texas and moved back to Ohio. Moving into our second living space, a condominium where I had my two children. By that time, my fiancé wanted a dog and therefore he adopted a sweet mixed breed named Norman. The three pets got along wonderfully.

All three animals were special, and I loved each one of them, but there was something about Scooter that tied me to him. Maybe it was because I was the one who named him. I chose a name that I thought of as a child but never had the chance to use up until then. When I thought of the name Scooter my family had animals already and thus, I couldn’t use the name. In my mind as a child I wanted a dalmatian named Scooter, instead when I saw my tabby cat years later somehow it just fit.

Scooter was a fiery little shit. He galloped around the house, jumped on couches, and ottomans, while his 16-pound frame made all sorts of noise in our house. He had the sweetest round face I’d ever seen. It begged for you to scratch him and that’s when he would bite you. Not hard of course but just enough to keep you away. He did this to everyone except me. Well, if I’m being honest, I got bitten also but far less than everyone else. It was a game he and I played. My sister, friend or family member would come over, see his darling face, and want to interact. They noticed he was a little finicky and asked if they could pet him.

             “Will he bite me?” My sister asked.

             “Nope.” I said.

Followed by laughter on my end after Scooter bit her. He never drew blood or hurt anyone, but he always let you know who was in charge.

A few years later I left my husband I moved the two kids, two cats and one dog into a two-bedroom apartment. I was afraid my husband would demand one of the pets, but then realized I had no need to worry. He wasn’t interested in taking care of his kids, why would he be interested in taking care of the animals? The apartment was home number three for Scooter and me, it was little, but we made it work.

During this time Scooter became ill with bladder stones. I had just left my husband who was unemployed and giving zero financial or emotional support. I was on food stamps, working part time and I used the last of my savings to put the deposit and first month’s rent down on my apartment. I didn’t have the money for the operation he needed therefore I asked my parents for the $1300 so the vet could surgically remove the bladder stones. I felt terrible. I was 31 years old, using government assistance and asking my parents to pay for surgery for my cat because I was too broke to do so. I thank God my parents helped me with his surgery, otherwise I wouldn’t have had him.

I lived at my apartment for the next 5 years and I’m sad to say that both Buddy and Norman passed during this time. Both were hard on me. It was the first time I was the adult making the choice when to end their suffering. The years went by, and I worked hard, getting promotions regularly, I was in a better financial position that allowed me to afford medicine and different diagnostic procedures for both Buddy and Norman. However, they each reached the end of their lives in that apartment. Buddy was young, only around 9 years old when he got intestinal cancer, and the vet told me there was little they could do. Norman was around 10 when he developed a tumor on his spine. Although logically I knew there wasn’t anything else I could do, it was still extremely hard to be the one to make that final decision. I tried to take comfort knowing they were not in pain any longer.

Although I struggled with each one passing, I have to say that when Buddy passed the kids were so little, I didn’t have a lot of time to grieve his death. I was still working to make it through each day as a single parent, falling into bed at night happy we all got through another day. A few years later when Norman passed, I felt the grief a little more. The kids were older, and I was getting ready to buy my first home. Norman was a Shepard mix who initially I didn’t want to adopt. We were living in my dad’s condominium without a yard, and I felt that it was wrong to get a dog who needed to run. My ex-husband didn’t care and wouldn’t listen to my concerns, so we rescued Norman. I walked him and took him to dog parks, but it wasn’t the same as being able to open up the door and let him lay in his own open yard. After all the years living in a condominium and then an apartment, I just wanted Norman to have a backyard to run in. Sadly, I wasn’t able to give him that before he died.

With the purchase of my first house, Scooter moved into the fourth home we would share. I started to realize that at 12 years old he wasn’t a young cat anymore and I needed to take the extra time to enjoy him. It suddenly struck me that he wasn’t going to be with me forever. I believe that this was when I really fell in love with him. Although the kids were older and more self-sufficient, they were both still in elementary school. After they went to bed I would start a fire, curl up on my couch and wait for Scooter to jump into my lap. Some people read to relax, others go to the gym, paint, or cook. I made fires in my fireplace and snuggled with Scooter.

During COVID I started working from home and Scooter sat on my lap for hours. I would be in meetings with my fat cat sleeping on me. I had to work, like us all, but I found the way to do it. Scratching my cat’s ears while I looked at spreadsheets made the spreadsheets slightly more bearable. The years went on and the jokes began.

“Mom, do you love Scooter more than us?” my daughter asked.

“Baby, how could you even ask that? Of course, I love Scooter more than I love you.” We would all burst into laughter as my daughter playfully hit me.

My son would walk downstairs and crawl onto the couch while Scooter and I watched a movie.

“Be careful, don’t upset my cat.” I would say grinning at him.

As much as we all joked about my love for Scooter there was an ounce of truth to it. Of course, I didn’t love my cat more than I loved my kids. But at that point Scooter had been in my life longer than my kids. I joked that Scooter lasted longer than my first marriage and I had been with him longer than my kids had been alive. Scooter was around while I was wrapped in the chains of active alcoholism and also there when I got sober. Scooter was with me when I was on food stamps and kept me warm when the furnace of my apartment barely did the job. He had slept with the kids, the dog and I all in one bed. He had been in my life for a long time.

Scooter started to slow down significantly in his 17^th year. He had suffered a few bouts of pancreatitis throughout his life, but these flares went from once every five years to a few times in a year. Scooter also started getting around slower. Taking longer to walk up and down the stairs and jumping onto the counter happened less often. The vet gave him supplements for arthritis this past year and I’m happy to say it did him wonders. In many ways it turned him into a kitten again.

As I saw him age, I marveled at the way Scooter did ordinary things, watching his relaxed face as he slept curled up in a sun beam as it peaked through the window. It brought tears to my eyes when he ran after a laser pointer my kids danced in front of him. Every night coming to a close with Scooter on my lap as we watched TV while the kids slept.

At the start of this year, I got married and bought my second house. This house was the fifth home that Scooter and I lived in together. A few weeks before the move I saw a change in Scooter. His vomiting increased, and changed from when he had a pancreatitis flare up to a few times a week. It finally got to the point where he couldn’t keep his arthritis supplements down which caused him to get around much slower than before. As the move got closer, I was terrified it would stress him out and toss him into another bout of pancreatitis. Luckily, he made the move much better than I anticipated and he thrived for a few weeks. Acclimating better than our younger cat and dog. But it didn’t last, soon after the move Scooter started losing weight. Not just a little as he aged but enough that I could tell a significant difference.

I spared no expense in allowing the vet to run tests while also balancing the stress of putting him through taking blood and giving him medicine. The only good part of this scenario was that I was in a financial position where I could afford to try whatever medication the vet suggested or to run whatever test was needed to try and help him. Ironic that the money I had worked so hard to get, in hopes of making my family’s lives better, didn’t give me any more time with my beloved cat.

On June 9^th 2024 I took Scooter to the vet to put him to sleep. With his passing a wound opened in my heart. I cried the entire time I was at the vet’s office as she asked me questions and finally agreed that it was time to end the pain he was in. We had run out of options, and she agreed his quality of life was not good. I stayed with Scooter the entire time, snuggling him, and stroking his head.

The next day I told my husband that I was surprised how difficult each day was. I’m not an overly emotional person. I love animals and consider myself a “pet person” but I’m also very practical. Everything dies eventually, it is just a part of life. My husband was the wise one as he said that “It’s been almost 20 years”. He is right, no one grieves 17 years in a day. Therefore, I’m allowing myself to feel the terrible feelings I have.

In my most basic thoughts I keep thinking that I just want Scooter back. I want him physically back with me, at home number five. I don’t like not having him. I had an exceedingly difficult time leaving his body with the vet, and although I opted to have him cremated and have purchased a small urn to keep him near me, I do not like not having him with me. I don’t like being at my house expecting to see him, even as skinny as he was. I want to pick up that skinny body and snuggle it. Logically I know that taking his pain away was the right decision, but I want him back. I feel like a child. If I thought stomping my feet, yelling, and pounding my fists on the floor would somehow allow him to return to me I would do it all. Unfortunately, at 45 years of age I know that won’t change anything.

I can’t imagine what it’s like for a parent to lose a child. I imagine the feelings I have of wanting my Scooter back are only a small representation of how a parent feels when they have lost their child. I think the only reason losing an animal is bearable is because we can understand that they live faster and shorter lives than we do. We understand that by loving an animal we will also have to withstand the pain of losing that animal. With children we are not supposed to lose them, they are supposed to lose us. I tell my children that my only real goal in life is to die before them. If I die before them then I’ve won at life. Don’t get me wrong, I hope that I die when I’m 97 and that my children don’t suffer any terrible fates, but in general as long as I die first then I’ll be happy.

Often times the kids and I would joke and say things like “He’s not going to be with us much longer.” Even though it was said lightheartedly I knew that it was a true statement. Cats rarely live to be twenty, although I thought my Scooter might make it that long.

Pain and misery are the harshest of teachers, but perhaps the ones that teach us the most. I realize that Scooter was my reward at the end of each day. After I finished my job, taken care of the kids, the house, and my husband, I was able to sit down and have my cat’s soft paws and gentle purrs take away the stress of my day. The time I spent with him was when my cup was refilled, he recharged me, allowing me to wake up and start all over again. I don’t know how I’m going to recharge now that he is gone.

What I do know however is that Scooter gave me a final gift in his death, he taught me to live in the moment. I can honestly say that I made a very conscious decision to love and enjoy Scooter more in the last three years than in the first twelve that I had him. I knew that time was running out for us to be together and instead of mourning his age I very much embraced it. I enjoyed every ear scratch, and each face snuggle. I took more pictures, made more Instagram posts, and ate up the affection he gave me. Scooter taught me to slow down and appreciate the time we had together. I’m trying to slow down; to enjoy the time I have with everyone and in every part of my life. I can honestly say that Scooter gave me one of the greatest gifts in my life and for that I will forever be grateful to my sweet, feisty tabby cat.