Tuesday

 Lisa and I started dating in October of 1995. In March of 1996 we moved in together.  In April of 1996 we made our first major decision as a newly-formed household:  we adopted a cat.

We chose her out of many we met at a local animal shelter in Cincinnati, and fell in love with her instantly.  We named her Tuesday.  (My insomnia was very strong at the time, and a local station ran episodes of “Dobie Gillis” at 3am, which Tuesday Weld appeared on.)

She got along very well with our other cat, and from the beginning I usually called her “baby girl”.  She and I bonded almost immediately.  (Our other cat, Vladdy, was very bonded to Lisa for his whole life.)  Tuesday would follow me around the house.  She would greet me at the door when I came home, and would insist on having me say hello to her in the bedroom.  She slept with me every night.  From her youth, she always had a very maternal nature.  She always seemed to want to take care of everyone.  During times when I had closely cut hair or a closely trimmed beard, she would clean my whole head or my whole face if I would let her.

She was aloof, and finicky, and particular, as cats tend to be.  But she had an amazing ability to tell when one of us was upset, or sad, or angry, or frustrated.  In those times, her aloof-ness would vanish, and she would come and say hello, or just cuddle up with me and go to sleep.  I don’t know how she knew, but she always did.  Her affection got me through many hard times.

Three weeks ago, she suddenly got very sick.  We couldn’t tell what was wrong with her, so we took her to the vet.  It turned out that it was squamous cell carcinoma.  In cats, this is a very fast-acting disease, and is essentially untreatable.  Lifespans of cats, post-diagnosis, tend to be measured in days.  The doctor gave us medicine to ease her pain, and make her comfortable, but that’s all we could do.

 

A couple days ago, it became obvious that things were getting difficult for her.  We called the vet and made an appointment.  The vet came to our house tonight.  I held Tuesday on my lap while the vet made the injection.  She purred, as if to tell us it was alright.  It seemed that, as she always did, she was trying to make us feel good.  The vet then stepped out, and we had ten last minutes with her.  We got to say goodbye to her. We got to tell her how much we love her, and how much she has brought to our lives.  We got to thank her for being part of our lives.  And then, while I was holding her on my lap, she passed.

She has been around essentially my entire adult life.  She has given me so much affection, so much care, so much joy.  I was looking forward to August playing with, and her patiently putting up with it, as she did most things.  It is hard for me to imagine my life without her.

She was a companion, and a friend.

I will miss her more than I can possibly say.