We lost our beloved little flopper Chloe last month and will be mourning a long time. Approaching fifteen “human years” (eighty in “cat years”) she wasn’t, and hadn’t been, getting around as easily as she used to. She weighed next to nothing and slept twenty-two hours a day. From time to time she would surprise us by making the diagonal leap from the far corner of the couch to the ottoman and it would make me so proud I wanted to cry. To hold her was to be comforted and heartbroken.
A month or two after Steve passed away (no doubt they’re lying by the heater together in cat heaven, which is much cleaner and snootier than regular pet heaven), A. and I were visiting with some (now former) friends who were planning to—it still amazes me—get rid of Chloe so they could bring in another half-retarded siamese. Chloe wouldn’t have “gotten along with” it and their current siamese so them’s the breaks, I guess. The… heartlessness. We weren’t yet considering another cat but, while the hosts were polishing their guns or something after dinner, Chloe strolled over and flopped right onto her side, purring a purr that even Steve couldn’t match in his usurper-sneak-attack moments. Not a care in the world… flop, upright, flop, upright, etc. Caring of nothing except to rub her face on the carpet. It was love.
Within seconds of leaving, before even turning off their street, we looked at each other and agreed that ours would be Chloe’s new home. Whether or not I (for Steve was really my cat) was ready was immaterial: we couldn’t bear the thought of her ending up in a shelter or elsewhere. The next day we reached out to those monsters and made our case, and the weekend after we hosted them and her on a trial visit. From that evening, Chloe, you were all-the-way ours. We will hear your silent meows and your rumbling purrs, marvel at your sweet tooth (!) and suffer your disregard for our thighs as you and your nails settled into our laps. We will cherish how much our daughter loved you—she always saw your spirit, even as you struggled to sit comfortably—and how much patience you had with her hugs. And we will laugh with your flopping because we know you had a sense of humor about it. Flop after flop when you were young! I will never forget.
Things changed the past few years with G. in the picture but I still included you upon entering a room and asking “How are my ladies?” I hope you felt so welcomed from when you saved me (for you did) until the end. The carrot cake was the least I could do. We miss you, Chlo-Chlo. We love you. ❤️
I’ve been out of commission lately, mourning the passing my cat and best buddy Steve. My lovely fiancée (we’re engaged now) wrote a beautiful little eulogy that she emailed to friends and family to let them know—it’s better than anything I could produce. So I’ll let her speak for me.
“Hi friends. I’m sorry for the impersonal note, but I have some sad news and I can’t bring myself to keep relating it over and over. Jarrod and I lost our beloved cat, Steve, on Sunday, after he developed a severe respiratory problem caused by a hole in one of his lungs. He had been ill periodically since having a tumor removed about a year ago, most recently the week before last, but the results of some blood tests and an ultrasound that were done at the time were encouraging, other than that they revealed a problem with his liver (which we were addressing with a reduction in the dosage of his daily chemo pill). He was a fighter, though, and he rallied for one more week of happy memories with us (and tuna). But he took a turn for the worse over the weekend, so we took him to Angell Memorial Hospital in Boston on Sunday afternoon. Nothing could be done or even attempted to help him that wouldn’t have caused him a lot of additional pain and suffering and it probably wouldn’t have saved him anyway, so we knew we had to let him go.
“Although we know we did the right thing, we still miss him a lot. As you probably remember, Steve’s and my relationship got off to a rocky start, but over the past couple of years especially, as he got used to me being around all the time, we became close and I grew to love him. His loss is especially hard for Jarrod, though, as Steve had been his little buddy for the last eight years and they had a special bond. We’re trying to keep sight of the most important thing, which is that Steve is not suffering any more. We know he’s in a happy place now, where he can eat tuna every day and where there’s no doubt a replica of his favorite cow toy, probably just as dirty and well-loved as the one he left behind.
“I just wanted to let you all know because you knew that Steve was an important part of our lives and really a member of our family.”
Thanks, babe. And bye, little guy. I miss you. I love you. ❤️
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