MungoGerrie

Originally published September 7, 2007

Around JK's birthday in 1997, my wife and I were talking about what to get for her, and of course the subject of cats came up. She has always been crazy for cats, and missed having one since we'd moved into a no-pets house a year before. We decided that, since our landlord hadn't bothered us so far, and every landlord from our past has kept our deposit despite our best efforts, we had little to lose by getting a kitten for our daughter.

There was a little pet shop next door to the grocery store where we shopped, that occasionally sold kittens. This shop made very little profit on these sales, because whenever they took in a litter, they arranged all the shots and made sure that they were free of fleas, worms, etc, and their end price was still only $25. The only kittens they had on hand at the time were orange tiger-striped, exactly the kind that Robin claimed to dislike. But we brought one home anyway, in a cardboard box, and that's how Jerry entered our lives.

He was supposed to be Jesse's cat, but over the years he formed attachements to each of us, in separate ways. As a kitten he would share naps with Robin (I have pictures). As he grew older, he liked to ride on Arthur's shoulders. As for me, I think I got more head-butts than anyone else, as a mature Mungo Jerry greeted me as a peer, and then claimed my lap for as long as I remained sitting.

We accumulated two more kittens in subsequent years, and Jerry more than tolerated each usurper. He always let the others eat first, confident that he would have enough. When Rumpelteazer paired off with Rum Tum Tugger (regardless of Old Possum's chronicles), he accepted that with the same grace. When we moved again, he was the quietest during the trip and the first to adapt to the new house.

This is not to say that he was always the perfect cat. He was intolerant of strangers handling him, and sometimes family too. Once while being adored by Lily, he suddenly turned around and hissed in her face, provoking an asthma attack. He hated going to the vet for shots and had to be held immobile by two pairs of hands. He was moody after every bath, and moody when Arthur moved out. He begged for our food at every meal, and turned over trash cans looking for more. He drank from the toilet if I didn't keep the lid closed. I can't count the number of times I nearly tripped over and cursed at that damn cat.

But at the end of the day, there was that head-butt, and a few minutes of purring in my lap, and I couldn't stay mad at him long.

About two years ago, Robin noticed Jerry was acting melancholy. We thought that he needed a companion, since Teaser and Rum had paired off and often didn't want him around. We brought Misty home from the shelter, but it never worked out. Teaser hated having another female around, and poor Misty spent two years confined in one little corner of the house or another, hiding. We eventually gave up and asked Arthur to take her. So Jerry never got his companion.

At last year's vet exam, I mentioned that Jerry seemed to be losing weight, but the vet said he was only a few ounces lighter than the year before and he seemed healthy. But he worsened over the next few months, drinking and urinating too much, not grooming well, begging more for treats and still losing weight. We started giving him a little bit of canned fish every day, and for a while that helped. I thought he might pull out of it.

A couple of weeks ago I took him back to the vet early, for tests. The vet returned my money and said that she wasn't equipped to help him. He'd lost almost seven pounds - nearly half his body weight was gone. His demanding maiow had diminished to a plaintive croak, then to a whisper. A full-service animal hospital might be able to do something. Maybe.

I had a decision to make. I could take him to the hospital and spend several hundred dollars that we just don't have in the hope that they could fix him up. I could have him put down immediately, ending his suffering. Or I could take him home, make him comfortable, and hope he got better on his own. I chose the latter, and now I'm beating myself up over it.

At first Jerry seemed to improve a little, but two days ago he laid himself down next to the water dish. He stopped eating anything, even his daily fish. He would get up occasionally and put his tongue in the water, and then lay down again.

Yesterday morning I came home to find Jerry on the basement floor. In spite of having trouble walking, he'd forced himself down the stairs to use the litterbox, ignoring one that I'd placed in easier reach. Having gone that far, he didn't have the strength to get himself back upstairs. I brought him up and sat with him until I couldn't stay awake any more.

When I got up, I thought he was already dead until I saw him gasp in a spasmodic breath that was painful to watch and must have been hellish to feel. I knew the end was near. I held him in my lap for about an hour. Then Jesse held him, and a few minutes later Jerry was gone.

The last few hours have been filled with self-recrimination. I feel that I should have found the money somewhere in the budget for the hospital. I should have taken him for testing sooner. I should have been nicer to him when I was trying to cook and he would stand up an put his front paws on my leg, begging for treats.

I should have given him more treats.

I feel like I let him down, and I let my little girl down. It's natural for a father's heart to break when his child is crying her eyes out over a loss as deep as this one. But what surprises me is how bad I feel for myself. It's never hurt me this much to lose a pet. Hell, I've rarely mourned any human.

These last few hours, though, it's been very hard to be the strong one.

I'm going to miss that damn cat.

Update 7/4/2010

About a year and a half ago, we adopted two half-grown kittens - we call them Gumbie and Bustopher. Buster has become my shadow, and I see in him the ghost of Jerry. The only thing missing is the headbutts -- instead of accepting me as an equal, Buster seems to think I'm his mom. He'd rather knead my stomach.

I probably won't be any more ready for the next disappointment. All we can do is enjoy the time beforehand.