Thankful for: 12 Years with My Cat

Tuesday was a sad, but inevitable day at Casa Greenlee. Our fluffy tuxedo cat, Jinx, saw the end of her days after a string of close calls. When they say cats have nine lives, they were talking about Jinx. We rescued her on her expiration date--after hours--at the pound, and from there began a mostly wonderful dozen years. Jinx wasn't a scairdy-cat, and had little fear of people. She was cool with you rubbing her belly, and you could play with her toes. She could be bitchy, but in a way that was full of personality. She was a vindictive pooper. But always in an easy-to-clean spot. And, she was my buddy. I'm married to a flight attendant, so when The Other Half is away, I always have had someone to talk to.

Now that she's gone, the house is less a home. And I find I'm talking to myself. It's a transition every pet owner makes, especially if it's their only pet, and for such a long time. Honestly, the sadness is bearable, as I know she had her life extended so many times. The hard part is definitely the decision to actually make the call, to end things. We couldn't do it the first day. Or the second. By day three, we knew we were just stalling, and committed. Blubbery messes we were. Jinx was just sort of annoyed, though she enjoyed her treat of beef jerky. She was her same adorable, fluffy, aloof, bitchy self on her last day. Which was kind of perfect.

As essentially an atheist, I can't really go in for mysticism, or spiritualism. But there is a little wistful part of me that hopes if there is anything to any of that stuff, that my cat gets to lounge on fluffy clouds, and eat endless bags of Jack's Links jerky, and piles of Daddy's rugs to poop on. RIP, Jinxy. You'll be a tough act to follow.