The Life of a Cat

Song of the Day: War of My Life by John Mayer

Today, when I made my rounds of goodbyes to the pets, I saved Iggy for last. I then held Iggy for half an hour and let myself get as emotional as I needed to. She, of course, could sense my distress and proceeded to purr as loudly as she could. Her affection very nearly resulted in me calling in to work so I could spend the day with her.

The reason I became so emotional when I said goodbye this morning was that I knew it was the last time I would ever see her, hear her, pet her, or hold her. Even now, it is very difficult to remain coherent as I write this.

After seventeen wonderful years my parents were forced to make the difficult and painful decision to have Iggy put to sleep today. It was an understandable decision, and I don’t fault them for it in the slightest; she has been very ill for the better part of a year, and unwell for over two. During the past few weeks in particular, I have watched her rapidly deteriorate and become heartbreakingly frail.

Iggy Norman: 3/4/1996 - 1/10/2014

I’ve never really had to deal with the death of a cherished pet. There were a few fish, I know. And I vaguely recall there being a hermit crab named PeeWee for whom I played a tearful verse of “Amazing Grace” on kazoo. But I’ve never dealt with an animal that has become so key in my life that she was a member of the family.

I recall when we first got her and her sister, Ziggy. Julie’s violin teacher’s next door neighbor had just become saddled with a newborn litter, courtesy of her very pregnant cat. We went over to visit the kittens regularly, trying to decide which one we were going to take home. Ziggy had been the obvious choice, but Iggy had also latched on to Julie so lovingly that she needed to come home as well. As a hemingway cat Iggy was “pretty cool,” but I really wanted one of the others, named “Georgie,” who had seven or eight toes on each paw - two or three more toes than Iggy. I thought bringing home Iggy and not Georgie was a mistake, and I was so wrong.

She discovered the comfort that is my back

Iggy, Ziggy, and I didn’t get along during her early years. As a little kid, I didn’t know much about self-control and I played rough with the cats, resulting in them being afraid of me and even, quite possibly, hating me. To this day I feel guilty for my unknowing mistreatment of the animals, and think it’s a blessing that, in their later years, they have come to look past that and have learned to love me (well, as much as cats love humans).

However, after we moved to the Albany district in ‘01, the cats’ attitude changed a bit. It also helped that I had developed a gentler attitude to playtime. Iggy, in particular, must have decided that I’d earned a second chance and began to hang around me a little more. Whereas Ziggy, ever the typical cat, remained as antisocial and developed a grumpy magnanimity toward me, Iggy turned into the social butterfly.

When Julie went off to college, Iggy found in me a substitute (albeit a poor one) to her cat-mom and slept more and more often in my room until it was every night that she came padding in to visit. She developed the canine habit of following me everywhere I went, meowing as if to announce my arrival. Sometimes I would stop what I was doing and just stare at her, whistling back to her the pitches of her meows (you can thank my dad for teaching me that habit), until she would stop waiting for me to pick her up and practically jump at me.

Over the years she has often been a comfort to me at times when I have been unable to find comfort. Many years ago, when I felt like I was alone, isolated and friendless, she was a friend to me. She had a psychic link with me and my family, able to tell when her love was needed and always running our way to help the whoever was in need. Iggy was with me during breakups and deaths.

Going on three years ago now, when both the death of my Grandfather and the end of a year-and-a-half long, serious relationship coincided, I was in the darkest place I think I’ve ever been, and that cat never left my side. She slept with me all night, followed me downstairs in the morning, saw me off at the door, and was waiting for me when I came back from work, only to do that routine over again. I think she would have come with me to work if she could, and I would not have complained. She was Julie’s cat, of course, and when Julie came home Iggy was all about her. But she showed me so much love that she was almost human.

And last year, when I was struggling with anxiety that was crippling more often than it wasn’t, Iggy was there. She never judged me or got irritated with me when I had my meltdowns about health and disease. All she did was purr and cuddle me and knead me with her tiny too-many-toed paws. So many times all I needed to do was come home and hold her, use her as a pillow, and listen to her rumbling happiness in order to help calm the storms in my mind.

The last time I held Iggy before going to work this morning.

I’m going to miss the swift tmp tmp sounds her paws made as she scampered along the halls. I’m going to miss her loud, piercing meow that defied nature with its hugeness in comparison to her tiny size. I’m going to miss the way the bed shuddered when she pounced up to me, and the way her paws felt poking me when she turned in circles to curl into that tight little ball on my legs. I’m going to miss the weight of her on my legs or chest, or the feel of her wrapped up under my armpit. I’m going to miss her little kneading paws and perpetual purring. I’ll miss her obsession with the little purple brush that is so tangled with her hair as to be unrecognizable - the brush that Mom used on her until her final moment. And I’ll miss the way she chirped if you pet her while she was snoozing.

I’m going to miss Iggy more than words can say.

When Bill Watterson, the artist of my favorite comic strip, Calvin and Hobbes, had to put his cat, Sprite, to sleep, he drew the strip that I’m posting below. I think it’s the best way to end this post, and close out my thoughts on this sad day. The strip fills me with great warmth even as it makes me sad:

Goodnight, Iggy, and sweet dreams. I’ll see you tonight.