Mewlogy: for Jack the Cat

(Scroll down for Jack's 'response'!)

I created this mewlogy for our cat, Jack, who sadly died this week (12th July, 2017).

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When Jack first chose us, it was the very essence of a nightmare: an inbuilt hatred for cats on my part alongside violent allergies. But there he was, mewling at our French windows in Shirley, Croydon. And he was cute.

A monobrow, an impressive moustache and white socks, with a white front poking out. Plus his plaintive, appealing mewls and willingness just to sit and chat. Very quickly, it became clear he had abandoned his rightful owners, Graham and Linda, all of 2 metres away, and pre-furred us. It was meant to be. Miraculously, his presence soon ameliorated my hay fever as I became more used to dander and then pollen. More miraculously, I fell in love with a cat – not cats, mind, but a cat, this cat, Jack. Because he was a special boy.

When we moved to Bedford he immediately marked out his territory and no cat within a mile radius would dare take their lives in their paws and stray the wrong side of the fence. Those that did were treated to the fiercest of right hooks, the loudest of shrieks and growls that even babies being murdered in the night with boiling water couldn’t muster, and a bloodbath would ensue. One time, the fur literally did fly and the kitchen units were subjected to a Game of Thrones brutality, with Jack, the victor. Winter was always coming for the other moggies roundabout.
They say cats are aloof. I don’t believe that anymore. Jack was loyal, he would always greet us with a lively yowl and quite often would take over much of a superking bed, leaving us two perched perilously as if teetering on the edge of Beachy Head. Jack was also very sociable – every new guest had to be greeted and nuzzled against, checked out for their suitability and if they were, he’d then politely join us for dinner at the table.

But in these latter months, he had started to fade – he was, after all, 126 in human years. His former thyroid problem was kicking in (having been nuked a few years ago) and his kidneys were becoming less viable. Deafness and tunnel vision were getting worse and then, horribly, this last week, his back legs were beginning to fail. Never one to complain, he was, however, telling us with his louder than normal mewls, that all was not well in the world of Jack. Finally, we knew that the end was nigh.
Which was perhaps one of the worst days of my life in that we took Jack to the vets knowing he wouldn’t be coming home. He obligingly sat in his pet basket (he used to hate it and would protest loudly) but now he was content to be taken on his last trip into the outside world. Obviously, and contrary as ever, on the examination table, he perked up, as if there was nothing wrong with him. But the vet was wise and he knew….the decision was agreed and we both felt sick to the core.

Moments later, Jack re-entered the room, this time with his cannula attached on his front right leg, bound in a green bandage. We placed him on a towel and petted him (we had brushed him the night before so that he would look smart) and made sure he felt calm as the first syringe was administered, a relaxant. A moment later, the vet revealed the syringe containing, what looked like the most evil venom in the word, yellow and angry, which he then gently injected into Jack. Almost immediately, Jack fell forward, supported by the hands of Des. I exclaimed. I wasn’t expecting it to be this quick.

And with that, Jack was gone. He was now all limp and all fluff, staring into nothing – but looked incredibly peaceful and relaxed, something we’d not seen in him for a very long time. By now I was bawling into a hanky, unable to process what had just happened. All I knew was that Jack wasn’t coming home and that he wasn’t suffering. The subsequent feelings of guilt overwhelmed me, but I know, I really know, this was the kindest thing to do, to let our boy go.

And gone he is, leaving behind an emptiness that is testament to how big a personality he was and how much he filled our lives with joy. He wasn’t just a cat. He was our baby boy, he was Jack the cat, who not only touched our lives, but all those who met and knew him.

What a remarkable achievement for a cat. Jack, we love you xxxxx
Jack 15/06/1999 - 12/07/2017

JACK’S VIEW

Cats choose their owners, you know,
if they have the opportunity;
as soon as I saw M & D through the fence,
I knew we were suited.
Their calling me Jack seemed right –
Jack the Lad? Jack the Giant Killer?
Jack Daniels? Jack in the Box?
I can play all those parts -
but probably not Puss in Boots!