Ian

12 December 2005

Ian was by far my favorite. I grew up with cats, but no others had such a hold on me. Ian was the first cat who was truly, totally mine. I first met him in the store at a time when according to my lease I wasn't supposed to have a cat. I took him home the next day nevertheless. He was with me through lazy Summer afternoons, wicked snowstorms and stupid first jobs. He lit up my first apartment with his bright gold eyes, loud meows and chatter and lightning-fast dashes from one end of the place to the other (occasionally chasing a mouse). He watched everything I did and I'd swear he made some changes to my website while I was out of the house.

The last few months were rough, as I watched a cancerous tumor overtake his teeth, then his gums, jaw and the rest of his mouth, growing daily, bleeding, plainly causing irritation and pain. Several surgeries were of little help. I resorted to hand-feeding once he could no longer scoop food off his plate, but then yesterday morning found that he was no longer even interested in eating. He was less than lucky with the genes nature gave him, but I hope I compensated somewhat with the care and love I gave easily for five years.

People have been sending me the text of "The Rainbow Bridge" and other similar poems about loss. While I appreciate their intentions, I don't believe we ever get over anything by deluding ourselves. He's not frolicking with the other animals. He's not waiting for me. I will never see him again, except in memories and dreams.

So, now I say good-bye to my little scrumble (one of many nicknames he picked up over the years), and look forward to tomorrow—tomorrow. Tonight, I'm just going to cry.

Zhanna

... Ian often burrowed under the covers and created "caves" for himself.

... Sometimes he fell asleep sitting up like this, too.

... Falling asleep (again!) and sliding off the chair.

... Ian attacks one of the first Geocaching travel bugs I picked up (a little wooden cat). He did no permanent damage.