From Alley Cat to Galley Cat - Rest in Peace, Darling Jade
Monday, February 20, 2012 at 1:17PM 
Last night we lost our darling Jade.
Many of you know her as Thrillercat, others as the poorly-trained cat from my bio. Some of you even had the privilege of meeting her in person.
But to us, she was Jade. Or Jadie, or cookie monster, or bunny, or mouse, or puppy, or darling girl, or Her Silliness, pumpkin... I could go on and on and on, all names sufficient unto the day thereof, because each was another word for love.
She came to us as a replacement cat, after we suffered the loss of a our 19 year old Siamese, Jiblet. (All names in my family start with J - from parents to siblings to animals to husband.). When I first saw her at the pound, she was five weeks old, suffering from a bad cold. So bad that they were going to put her down. They can’t afford to have sick kittens in the cages; disease spreads too quickly among unloved animals.
They’d named her Tori. She had the most inquisitive, if rheumy, green eyes. I knew immediately I had to take her. I couldn’t let this poor thing get put down because she’d been weaned too early and struck out on her own, a little stripedy runaway. She had gumption, I could see that. Desires, dreams. She wanted a bigger world than the one she’d been dealt. She was a renegade. Perfect.
She was also a five-week-old kitten who was terribly sick. The vet around the corner took her in, nursed her back to health, and she came home with us. A yowling little ball of fur who was the most fiercely independent cat I’ve ever had.
She took up residence on the pillow at the corner of the L-shaped couch and pretty much stayed there for the next several months. She was a sweet, lovely little thing who didn’t like people food, wanted her chin scritchies on her terms, and determinedly made a friend out on my husband, who wasn’t what we like to call a cat person.
She never let us forget how much she appreciated the fact that we picked her. Saved her life. Cats are supposed to have nine-well, by the time she came home with us, she'd already used up three. And proceeded to lose a couple of more when she was vaccinated the first time, and went into anaphylactic shock. Only a race back to the vets and several rounds of epinephrine saved her.
We went to special lengths for this cat. When we travelled, she had her own personal babysitter who came over and stayed with her, watching television and reading books to her. She absolutely couldn't be boarded, she turned into a neurotic, shaking mess around other animals. She was afraid, afraid! of other animals – so scared that when my parents come to visit, she would take up residence under my bed, hissing and growling at everyone who dared come near. It was also amusing, especially since she was a regular hussy with anyone else who showed up on our doorstep. It was only my parents, who arrived bearing their own cat and a little dog, that sent her into paroxysms of kitty terror.
What must she have seen in those five weeks before we made her our own? What terrors haunted her days and nights? I’ll never know.
So last year, Miss Jade--our fiercely independent, won’t allow herself to be picked up, I am my own cat, thank you very much-suddenly turned into a lap cat.
Which was a problem on numerous levels.
First, I use a laptop. Operative word – lap. I’ve been spreading a bit as I age, but I’m not to the point where I can accommodate a cat and a computer. And she wouldn't take no for an answer – she was going to get in my lap whether I want her to or not.
We'd do battle for several hours in the morning. She'd curl up while I went through my RSS feeds, then jump off. Rinse and repeat times about ten. The teakettle would be whistling, but Miss Nonchalant couldn't care less, she was comfortable. Happy. Safe.
And I never had the heart to kick her off. It’s nice to have a furball in your lap, warm and purring and gazing at me adoringly when I scratched her ears.
Yes, yes, I know. She played into my ego. I’m enamored of the idea that this cat, who I chose, had also chosen me.
Jade is in my bio because she's the one who set me along the path to becoming a writer. I worked for the vet who patched her up for three days (I thought I’d be working the desk, but he wanted me as a tech in the back. Bad. Bad. Bad. After my first neutering, I was done.) I was quitting on Friday, and on Wednesday I picked up a large golden and herniated a disc in my back. That led to surgery, and recovery time, and library books, where I discovered John Sandford. The rest, as they say, is history.
Eleven books later, about to finish a twelfth, I am still shaking my head at the serendipity there. Jade's paws (and most of the rest of her body) touched every physical manuscript I've ever written. She'd often park herself on the manuscripts as I was editing, which earned her the very apt nickname galley cat. The fact that she won't sit on this one breaks me, but she had a large part in its creation nonetheless.
Jade Editing A Deeper Darkness
In October of 2011, Jade stopped eating, and took to a small camp she'd made in our guest room, a tent built with pillows that received the warmth of the sun but also provided quiet, peaceful privacy. By Thanksgiving we'd received the diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. There were things we could do to make her more comfortable, including an experimental (for felines) drug that had luck shrinking tumors called Piroxicam. We expected to lose her any time.
Instead, the little fighter fought. She fought hard, for three months. Three months! We didn't expect her to live out the week when she was diagnosed, and yet she gave us that gift, to allow us to be ready when the time finally came. She even took her first plane ride over Christmas. We weren't about to let her out of our sight, because we knew each day, each moment, could be her last.
But you're never really ready. There is no good time. You just have to pray that you catch it on the fine line between they still want to live and the pain is too formidable.
Jade's pain became formidable yesterday. We made the heart-rending decision to take her in this morning. But she had other plans. At ten last night, she made it clear she was ready. And we bustled her off to the emergency vet, and she faced her final challenge like the champion kitten she was, fearless, graceful and loving. A little past midnight, she was gone.
We are heartbroken today. But that warm, soft weight who went to sleep in my arms as peacefully as if she were taking a nap, slipping the surly bonds of earth, finally out of pain, allowed her spirit to come home with us. I feel her presence in the house, and its giving me comfort today.
Thank you for all your support on this journey. Your thoughts, prayers, card and emails have meant the absolute world to us.
Rest now, little one, and know that you were adored.
Reader Comments (18)
Sorry to hear. Sounds like one cool cat.
What a beautiful tribute you've written for your writing partner. You gave her a good life. She will remain with you forever. I still can feel my cat Daisy -- a barn cat who became a bed cat -- lay across my shoulder while I wrote or when I was reading. She's gone, but I can still feel her jumping up on the end of the bed when I open my nightly read.
What a beautiful tribute you've written for your writing partner. You gave her a good life. She will remain with you forever. I still can feel my cat Daisy -- a barn cat who became a bed cat -- lay across my shoulder while I wrote or when I was reading. She's gone, but I can still feel her jumping up on the end of the bed when I open my nightly read.
I keep this handy for just in case. The Story of the Rainbow Bridge
Just this side of Heaven the pets who left us play at the Foot of the Rainbow Bridge, bathed in sunshine's rays.
Lifetime woes are long forgotten all memories of pain erased, the sick are well, the made whole, as they romp their cares away.
Yet there remains a gentle tug, distant memories of loves and hugs, so while they play they also wait...for such friendships are forever.
Then your time comes, and the vigil ends, two friends forever joined.
You stroll together - your final journey - across The Rainbow Bridge. Sue Hillis
Print this out and keep it somewhere where you can read it, often. It helps. I know, because it helped me, a lot.
Terry
JT , my heart breaks for you both, to loose a beloved pet and part of your family is not only tragic it's a bit numbing too.
She will never be forgotten.
deb
JT - As someone who "saved" a cat 11 years ago, works from home, and has to balance a 13-lb bowling ball of a feline on my lap with a laptop, my heart aches for you. What a lucky, lucky, LUCKY cat to have you and your husband. Hugs to both of you.
Don't know if you are familiar with this poem. I wish I had been aware of it when we've lost our precious babies.
The Rainbow Bridge
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....
Author unknown...
So sorry you lost Jade. She was a real beauty. She sounds like a very special friend, indeed, and a muse, as well. She was very fortunate to have such a loving owner as you for so many years. I empathize with you, as I lost my cat of nineteen years in the fall of 2010. Blessings to you.
Sniff!
As a writer who is very much a cat person, I understand your pain. My buddy Mozart passed a few years ago, but I still see him all over the house. When I practiced the piano he would sit behind the music and push it off while I played. When I was at the computer, he was lying on my forearms, preventing me from typing well. When I ate dinner, he would stretch under the table and I'd see his paw edge up onto my plate to steal food. I still look for him everywhere I go. He was my bestest, bestest friend. But when they leave us, we all know they're going someplace far better, and will be there to greet us when we finally get to see them again.
What a beautiful tribute JT.... And thank you, I am going to deliver chin chunks to my own kitties right now. I will forever remember Jade.
Steve, Brooks, Debbie, Shelly, Mary, Diane, Cy and Ruth - thank you, so much. Your words comforted me through the day yesterday, and will continue to bolster Randy and I as we muddle through this. You are wonderful to share with me, and I appreciate your stories and poems and support so much. As I try to get back to work today, I will take your support with me to the keyboard. Thank you. xx
Oh JT, my heart breaks for you. The most difficult gift to give is the most important one. Never doubt yourself, never question that you made all the right decisions for Jade. And that she knew/knows that. Any choice made with love in your heart is never wrong.
What a gift you gave to each other! Such love lives on. Hugs---and head-bonks from my own 14-year-old Seren-kitty (who just this year decided SHE was a lap cat, too.)
I'm so sorry to hear about your JT. It's obvious she enriched your lives almost as much as you did hers. Special pets are just that...so so special. Take care.
Oh, JT! So sorry to hear about Jade. I have three cats that take turns being lap cats, and have experienced saying goodbye to a couple over the past 20 years. I love the pictures. Thanks for sharing. Hope to talk again soon - on radio station WGRT in Port Huron - (you might remember that Diana's which is now in Nashville used to be in my home town.) Take care.
I am so very, very sorry. I've had to do this, only last Jan. as a matter of fact with my precious, wonderful dog, Dolly. I do so understand and know the heartache you feel.
I don't think time truly heals, but it does ease the ache just a little. May the time speed for you!
Is there anything we can do in Jade's memory? Support a fund somewhere or something? Her place in your heart will never budge, but a memorial of some kind can be a comfort as the days pass.
I join the others with my condolences and sending love your way.
Marion, your generosity is overwhelming. If you'd like, I can't discourage you from making a donation to your local animal shelter. Anything they can get helps. Your request touches me deeply.
And to all, thank you. We still miss Jade terribly, that will never change. But having the outpouring of love has really helped.
xoxo