A guest blogger: Rob

We bought a big house. But it never really felt big until Brad died.

We had to put Brad down. We don’t know what had a hold of him, but it was moving fast and taking him quickly. He was so clearly in pain, and some of the things that he so dearly loved - like riding on my shoulder - were too painful for him to do. He had stopped eating and drinking. It was all he could do to make it onto the bed. He didn’t even fight when we packed him up for our last trip to the vet, and that was not him. Looking back, we can see signs of his decline going back a few weeks, but it really all crashed in a week. And how can you say good-bye to 13 pounds of black fur and unconditional love, even given a week?

This is weird. How do I wake up without him? I can look at the calendar and know that I was married almost 3 years before he joined us, but I don’t remember being married and cat-less. I almost don’t know what to do. How can we get going in the morning without 8 legs and 3 baths? Isn’t there a law against it? Worse than that, this is the first time in this house – in 5 years – I’ve woken up without him here. I can’t even claim that with Toni. He’s been a fixture, like the lights. Or the bed covers, which he could mimic well.

And later this afternoon, when I want to be lazy, what do I use as an excuse? Now I just look like a slob instead of a friend to the cat. He was so good at napping exactly where and when I wanted him to, or slowing me down when I had been working too hard. He tried to do the same with Toni, but sometimes she wasn’t as ready to listen. He would persist – it was his gift to get us in tune with him.

He made us cat-like, and we made him a third loved-one in the house. We joked about being Big Cat and Mom Cat from day one, but looking back we had become like that over time without noticing. Since he was with us, we became more real, more present, more in tune to our true selves, much as one would see in a cat. What creature knows itself and caters to its own needs as well as a cat? We learned to take care to rest in the sunbeams, to purr and show appreciation, and to look out for each other as partners. And we made this attitude spread to the rest of our life. Our move out of California, with all the little decisions that built up to it, derive from being cat-like – being present and in-tuned with what we needed. We became more real and human, all because we followed the lead of the cat.

We made sure that we didn’t treat him as a person or as family, which probably surprises a number of people. He wasn’t family – the three of us were a Pride. He was a cat, and we never forgot that and we always respected that fact. But we did treat him as a loved one, beyond just being a pet. We spoiled him, and he spoiled us with love and attention. We were a group, moving together but always independent. We didn’t always need to be together, but we always knew where each other was and were comforted by that knowledge. Given a choice, we’d be together, but we each knew our place, knowing when each needed attention and each needed space. Toni and I were family, but the three of us were a pride.

And now where is he? I’m so lost.

No longer will I see his tail pass in front of a table or down the hall -- tall, strong, and happy like a flag being flown proudly in a full breeze. No longer will I have to figure out how to type with him sitting on my arms or biting my fingers. Now I realize I should have typed less and pet more. No longer will I hear him jingle down the stairs, or in from his food bowl. I won’t even hear him jump down from the counter when he was being bad. I still expect him around every corner. I counted – there are a dozen places where I keep looking for him, where I have to talk myself into knowing that he won’t be there before I look.

I cry sad and happy tears at the same time. I think of what I’m missing, but I also think about how even in his last hours, in great pain, he worked to care for me and Toni. She explained that time so much better than I can, so I won’t. But how noble he was in those moments – what a lesson from God to learn. Showing us how to care for each other to the end. How to love to the end. How to be a friend, and a companion, and a partner to the end. And how to trust that we would do what we could for him. We did – as awful as it was. We took that pain away the only way possible, and without that choice the pain would have only increased. I again cry happy and sad tears as I think of him going to sleep on Toni’s lap for the last time, as the pain faded in his body, and his head sank in his familiar, content way – he was with us and knew he was cared for until the end.

How’d this house get so big so quickly?