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I remember two pets from my childhood. My family had pets probably before and definitely after, but I never really thought of them as my pets. I only had two pets, both of them dogs, both of them, at least in my memory, looking quite similar to each other. From what I remember, I had them at different times. Their names were Mikey and Mickey, and I cannot for the life of me remember which one was which. In my mind, they’re the one that ran away and the one that got ran over by a school bus in front of me. That was when I around eight or nine, and as far as me and pets went there was nothing doing in my teens and twenties.
Saying no to pets is pretty easy when you’re a single Senior Airman in the Air Force, living in a small apartment with your daughter. We didn’t get a pet until we moved to Altus Air Force Base, Oklahoma, at which point we essentially got two. We got Strickland, who soon unfortunately we had to put to sleep because of feline leukemia. And we agreed to watch Jaden, my friend Martha’s cat, while Martha was deployed. Martha came back and we had suffered through Strickland’s loss and Martha also saw how attached Robyn and I were to Jaden, and long story short, we had a cat.
Jaden wasn’t like other pets I knew. She wasn’t like other cats I knew. In fact, I think Jaden was what I would have been if I was a cat. People say sometimes owners and pets look like each other; Jaden and I sometimes acted like each other. She didn’t put up with bullshit easily, even as a kitten. Give her a string or a laser light, and she would give it a few bats, but eventually she would look at you, as if to say, “you know, I’m not going to dance for you.”
She also didn’t suffer fools easily. Everyone who came into contact with her, including other animals, had to earn it from her. She didn’t seek out fights (at least not in my presence; others might tell you differently), but when her zone got intruded on, whoever was the intruder, whether it be Strickland, Eponine, Beetle or Oy, got the famous Jaden paw. She wasn’t antagonistic; she just didn’t trust easily. But when you earned her trust, you earned it. Strickland did. Beetle did (we would sometimes joke the two of them were an old lesbian couple, often lying together wherever the sun shined in the room and grooming each other). I did.
Jaden was my cat. Martha might have given her to us with the intention that she would belong to Robyn. But she was mine. It just was the way it was. She wasn’t the attention whore other cats are, although she became more friendly as time went by. She would come up to me and present herself as if to say, you can pet me if you want; if you don’t, whatever. And she slept with me. Countless nights I would wake up to the little gray ball of fur lying on my chest, her face against my face.
Jaden was a cautious adventurer. I can’t tell you how many times she’s taken the opportunity to run out the door if you let her--only to stop at the edge of the sidewalk, as if to say, okay, I did that, what now? One time during another horrible dust storm in Altus the back door came open, allowing her out. I went outside to find her standing under my bedroom window, waiting to be let back in.
In recent years Jaden became...well, I won’t say friendlier, but more open. When people came over and sat down on the couch, Jaden would jump up and put herself across their legs, waiting to be petted. Maybe I’ve become more friendlier as I’ve gotten older, and she is just following suit because of our symbiotic E.T./Elliot relationship. I haven’t figured out which one I was.
I got Jaden in 2001. In the last month or so I noticed that she had been losing weight. I noticed it, but didn’t necessarily take any special note of it. After all, Beetle was roughly the size of, well, a Volkswagen Beetle, and we had recently gotten a new cat, Oy, who liked to eat and who also liked to “play” with the other cats as they attempted to eat. So I could see Jaden losing weight.
Things happened very quickly over the last week or so. I realize now, but didn’t make any special emphasis on it, that she wasn’t running around the house a lot, not getting away from Oy or chasing him down for annoying her, not jumping into my bed to sleep with me (that I could blame on Oy, too, since he seemed to take a deliberate pleasure in “playing” with me around three in the morning). Then I noticed her eyes appeared to be watering. Two things I saw last Friday were what showed me there was something terribly wrong. First of all, when Oy jumped on her and wrestled with her, Jaden just lie there and took it. She didn’t give him the paw. She didn’t chase him off. She just endured. The second was she attempted to jump on the couch to be with me...and she didn’t make it. She just fell back. I looked at stuff online. I told myself it was something simple, something that could be fixed with a pill or a shot. I was going to go to the vet on Monday, and she was going to be all right.
I came home that Saturday and she attempted to get on the couch again. I helped her this time, and she lay on my chest, softly purring, barely moving.
I took her to to vet Monday. I put her in the car. Jaden in the car was quite a sight to see, usually. She would pant like a dog, and usually get up on the dash or up on her paws to look out the window (I hated putting her in a cage). This time she just rested on the seat and then flopped on to the floor. She didn’t jump down to it; she just flopped.
The miracle pill/shot never came. Within seconds of holding her, the vet told me, “we’re in trouble.” I knew it. He told me her organs were failing, pointing out the way her bones stuck out, the jaundice on her ears and eyes. He could, he said, do a lot of test and have her there for about a week, going through surgeries, and all he could give me was about a five percent chance she would live another six months.
I didn’t cry much in the vet’s office, but enough so that this grizzled old veterinarian with hearing loss and fingernails like sheets of fogged glass offered me tissues. I signed the papers, allowing them to put her to sleep. I could have taken her home and buried her here, but I thought about all the dogs around here and how I would feel if they dug her up...so I let her be cremated.
Robyn cried when I had to tell her Strickland would have to be put to sleep. I didn’t. I liked Strickland, but he just wasn’t my pet. When I called Robyn to tell her, we both cried. I cried more in that conversation with Robyn than I did in the weeks following when I found out my father had died. Nothing against my father. Jaden had just been a bigger part of my life. I lost a friend.
Rest in peace, Jaden. You were the best pet I could ever hope to have. Beetle and Oy are here, and I hope that Tatiana will look at them the same way I looked at you. But I never will. They’re just not you.
Saying no to pets is pretty easy when you’re a single Senior Airman in the Air Force, living in a small apartment with your daughter. We didn’t get a pet until we moved to Altus Air Force Base, Oklahoma, at which point we essentially got two. We got Strickland, who soon unfortunately we had to put to sleep because of feline leukemia. And we agreed to watch Jaden, my friend Martha’s cat, while Martha was deployed. Martha came back and we had suffered through Strickland’s loss and Martha also saw how attached Robyn and I were to Jaden, and long story short, we had a cat.
Jaden wasn’t like other pets I knew. She wasn’t like other cats I knew. In fact, I think Jaden was what I would have been if I was a cat. People say sometimes owners and pets look like each other; Jaden and I sometimes acted like each other. She didn’t put up with bullshit easily, even as a kitten. Give her a string or a laser light, and she would give it a few bats, but eventually she would look at you, as if to say, “you know, I’m not going to dance for you.”
She also didn’t suffer fools easily. Everyone who came into contact with her, including other animals, had to earn it from her. She didn’t seek out fights (at least not in my presence; others might tell you differently), but when her zone got intruded on, whoever was the intruder, whether it be Strickland, Eponine, Beetle or Oy, got the famous Jaden paw. She wasn’t antagonistic; she just didn’t trust easily. But when you earned her trust, you earned it. Strickland did. Beetle did (we would sometimes joke the two of them were an old lesbian couple, often lying together wherever the sun shined in the room and grooming each other). I did.
Jaden was my cat. Martha might have given her to us with the intention that she would belong to Robyn. But she was mine. It just was the way it was. She wasn’t the attention whore other cats are, although she became more friendly as time went by. She would come up to me and present herself as if to say, you can pet me if you want; if you don’t, whatever. And she slept with me. Countless nights I would wake up to the little gray ball of fur lying on my chest, her face against my face.
Jaden was a cautious adventurer. I can’t tell you how many times she’s taken the opportunity to run out the door if you let her--only to stop at the edge of the sidewalk, as if to say, okay, I did that, what now? One time during another horrible dust storm in Altus the back door came open, allowing her out. I went outside to find her standing under my bedroom window, waiting to be let back in.
In recent years Jaden became...well, I won’t say friendlier, but more open. When people came over and sat down on the couch, Jaden would jump up and put herself across their legs, waiting to be petted. Maybe I’ve become more friendlier as I’ve gotten older, and she is just following suit because of our symbiotic E.T./Elliot relationship. I haven’t figured out which one I was.
I got Jaden in 2001. In the last month or so I noticed that she had been losing weight. I noticed it, but didn’t necessarily take any special note of it. After all, Beetle was roughly the size of, well, a Volkswagen Beetle, and we had recently gotten a new cat, Oy, who liked to eat and who also liked to “play” with the other cats as they attempted to eat. So I could see Jaden losing weight.
Things happened very quickly over the last week or so. I realize now, but didn’t make any special emphasis on it, that she wasn’t running around the house a lot, not getting away from Oy or chasing him down for annoying her, not jumping into my bed to sleep with me (that I could blame on Oy, too, since he seemed to take a deliberate pleasure in “playing” with me around three in the morning). Then I noticed her eyes appeared to be watering. Two things I saw last Friday were what showed me there was something terribly wrong. First of all, when Oy jumped on her and wrestled with her, Jaden just lie there and took it. She didn’t give him the paw. She didn’t chase him off. She just endured. The second was she attempted to jump on the couch to be with me...and she didn’t make it. She just fell back. I looked at stuff online. I told myself it was something simple, something that could be fixed with a pill or a shot. I was going to go to the vet on Monday, and she was going to be all right.
I came home that Saturday and she attempted to get on the couch again. I helped her this time, and she lay on my chest, softly purring, barely moving.
I took her to to vet Monday. I put her in the car. Jaden in the car was quite a sight to see, usually. She would pant like a dog, and usually get up on the dash or up on her paws to look out the window (I hated putting her in a cage). This time she just rested on the seat and then flopped on to the floor. She didn’t jump down to it; she just flopped.
The miracle pill/shot never came. Within seconds of holding her, the vet told me, “we’re in trouble.” I knew it. He told me her organs were failing, pointing out the way her bones stuck out, the jaundice on her ears and eyes. He could, he said, do a lot of test and have her there for about a week, going through surgeries, and all he could give me was about a five percent chance she would live another six months.
I didn’t cry much in the vet’s office, but enough so that this grizzled old veterinarian with hearing loss and fingernails like sheets of fogged glass offered me tissues. I signed the papers, allowing them to put her to sleep. I could have taken her home and buried her here, but I thought about all the dogs around here and how I would feel if they dug her up...so I let her be cremated.
Robyn cried when I had to tell her Strickland would have to be put to sleep. I didn’t. I liked Strickland, but he just wasn’t my pet. When I called Robyn to tell her, we both cried. I cried more in that conversation with Robyn than I did in the weeks following when I found out my father had died. Nothing against my father. Jaden had just been a bigger part of my life. I lost a friend.
Rest in peace, Jaden. You were the best pet I could ever hope to have. Beetle and Oy are here, and I hope that Tatiana will look at them the same way I looked at you. But I never will. They’re just not you.
