From the day I met her, I wanted her to be mine.
At the time, the only pets I’d ever had were dogs. I liked dogs. I even loved a few dogs. They’re loyal and consistent. Dogs live by a pattern and have favorite things and even favorite people.
Cats, though, are, well, cats. They live without attachment to pattern. Most times, they’d just as soon ignore you as to look at you. Generally, cats are equally indifferent to humans, whether you live in the same house with them or not.
But, Jaina was different . . . so very different.
She welcomed people. She loved attention. Even when she acted like she didn’t (see photo above).
When Laura moved to New England and Jaina moved in permanently with us, we initially tried to leave her at home in the care of our son, Robbie, while we went to Chattanooga for my annual “Christmas comittment.”
Unfortunately, Robbie and his wife took the opportunity to shave our cat. Not really. Sort of.
As it turned out, when we got back from Chattanooga, Jaina had developed a noticeable bald spot on her stomach. I mean, VERY noticeable. After repeated accusations and denials, we learned that some cats, when under duress, will lick themselves to the point of removing their fur.
Jaina had shaved herself.
This past year, upon returning, she started exhibiting some more serious issues. We took her in to see our veterinarian who gave us some bad news.
Jaina was in the final stages of kidney failure.
There were extreme steps that we could take, we were told. But the condition was irreversible and ultimately terminal. Based upon the results of her blood tests, the vet said the end could be any time.
So, we knew we weren’t going to pursue any of the extreme treatments just for the sake of getting a little more time. And the trauma and frequency of the treatments would seriously impact her quality of life. We settled in, waiting for the end, and decided to make her comfortable, happy and spoiled for her last days.
Those “last” days turned into weeks. The weeks turned into months. Almost five months, to be exact.
Jaina lived five of the best months of her life at the end. She was more active and entertaining in those months than ever. She would hide in closets.
Once, after a protracted search and near panic from both Susan and myself, we found her in the kitchen on top of the cabinets with her back pressed against the ceiling. Another time, all we could hear was meowing. Finally, after having eliminated every other possibility, we discovered she’d wedged herself behind the microwave.
Of course, she could have gotten out by herself. She just wanted to show off.
One recent Christmas, our son-in-law, Shane was given a tartan plaid blanket. Since it was too bulky to pack into luggage for a return flight to New York City (or because he didn’t really like it – he’s hard to read sometimes), he gifted it to Jaina. She did not hesitate to put it to good use.
I laid her to rest early this morning between the rose bushes in our yard. I cut out a section of her blanket and it served as her burial shroud.
When I left her to rest this morning, I tried to sleep. That wasn’t possible. I got up and told her goodbye. I loaded my Christmas suits into the truck and drove to Sevierville to take them to the cleaners. I’d hoped that the beautiful rive down 321 would help.
Just before I sat own to write this, I had been sitting in the truck in tears for about an hour with the realization that this will be the first time I’ll have entered this house without her.
Love you, Crazy Kitty.
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