Sometimes not writing a post may be the best way to go.  Maybe I’ll look back and realize that was the case tonight but who knows.  Tonight’s one of the saddest days of my adult life as I say goodbye to a little friend.  George Carlin was right all along when he essentially said that when we committed to a pet we were essentially investing in a tragedy.  On this cold winters night I understand what he meant.  ln the end the story has a happier ending but it is a reminder to all to cherish what you have and stop worrying about what you don’t.

I left Thursday for a business trip focused entirely on the task at hand.  I remember leaving and saying goodbye to my wonderful wife and kids.  I remember heading east on Friday looking forward to seeing the “family.”  I landed on time at Logan around 530pm and headed to the car that was waiting to drive me home.  Around 7 I arrived to happy children.  This was the first trip really since my youngest was born and it was nice to see the kids.  I remember the car pulling up and thinking it was odd that the cat I affectionately referred to as the little man wasn’t at my feet.  Through four homes and a decade he always was at my feet upon returning.  That’s the beauty of pets, you can be gone for ten minutes and they’ll still act like it’s been ten years since the last time they saw you.  None of that took place and as I went about my business of explaining this trip to my wife and kids I remember checking the front door a dozen times.  The little white whiskered face was never there sitting impatiently as he’d been for so many earlier nights.  The ironic part is the trip west featured a friend and vendor that had just rescued a 1 year old puppy and was going through the trials and tribulations of dog ownership. 

I woke up today thinking my wife would tell me he was in after a night of cat carousing.  An overnight spent chasing the lady cats was not an unusual thing for him although he was long ago Bob Barkered.  I went about my day periodically expecting him to be sitting at the top of the rock stairs meowing to get in, or scratching at the door as he’d always done.  By mid afternoon and with temperatures dropping the grim reality of life and death hit me.  I understood the fixture in my life, the one constant through thick and thin and the one thing in life that didn’t judge me for all my faults, shortcomings and other flaws wasn’t coming home.  Over the last few months my oldest daughter had formed a bond with him that gradually had gotten so strong she’d stopped asking for a dog.  He was always essentially a dog in a cats body.  He’d come to me if I called him from a block away.   He’d sit on your lap if you tapped on the couch or go fetch anything you threw.  He was a dog without all the difficulties of worrying about him chewing on the couch or pissing on the floor.  He was the ideal pet.  Wonderful around the baby even when she pulled his tail, his whiskers or his ears.  The one time our baby really pulled his tail he swiped her with a soft paw and although the baby was devastated by the perceived slight of the cat he was as always gentle.   There was no trauma or injury, just a soft paw without claws to tell her this wasn’t cool in his book.

By this evening we had to explain to our oldest that her buddy wasn’t coming home.  In a lot of ways that was easier than the reality I faced this evening after a few drinks at the bar with close friends.  I expected to get out of my buddy’s car to see the cat waiting.   Instead there was nothing.  I expected I”d hear him responding to my calls while I walked the streets at 1am.  I was convinced he was just locked in a garage of a neighbor.  But after walking in the woods and up and down the streets in the bitter night cold I’m here typing knowing he’s gone.  I also know George Carlin was right.  Pets are but a tragedy that we know is coming when we adopt them.  We saved my buddy Barney from the train tracks of my home town and a certain early death 10 years ago this winter.  Through thick and thin and all my faults I could always rely on him waiting for me.   I’m not sure I can explain it to non-pet people.  There’s just that look that an animal gives you that you form a bond with that is ever lasting.  I’ve made more mistakes than I care to count in the last ten years.  The cat was always the constant.  I could always count on him to be there.  I probably never appreciated how much I relied on the little furball.  The neighborhood has been overrun with coyotes, fisher cats and foxes for years.  Animals go missing regularly and we always knew that was part of the game and there was a chance our animal would become a footnote.

This little pile of fur no heavier than a sack of potatoes was here when both of my wonderful daughters came home for the first time.  He was here when they both talked, when they both walked.  I knew eventually he wouldn’t be here some day, I just didn’t realize it would be this day.  This entire experience just helps to reiterate it is important to seize the day.  Through everything the cat was the measuring stick.  For the entire existence of what is my real adult life he has been here and now he’s gone.  Whether it be by coyote, car, or just illness and he wandered off like older cats are prone to do he’s gone from my life.  The bridge to an earlier life has crumbled.  Goodbye little friend, I’m sorry I never got to say goodbye.  You brightened the life of my family and I will always be thankful for the wonderful ten years that you were a fixture in my life.

I thought about editing the post when we showed up at the door after a couple of days looking dingy, beaten up and scared.  He was covered in dirt and sand.  Doing some reading it appears he may have been chased off by one of the predators and had hunkered down within 4-5 houses to wait it out.  The other possibility is someone claimed him as their own, or that he just got lost.  Either way he returned, and enjoyed a day of being appreciated like he hasn’t in a long time.  For me it’s a lesson of enjoying what we have at hand versus worrying about all the trials of life.