I lost my best friend 2 weeks ago. Killer. My wonderful cat who was with me for 19 years. 19 years. Killer was with me since I had my first apartment. As an adult, that might be tough to put in to perspective, but I realized the other day that 19 years was equivalent to getting Killer on my first day of kindergarten, and then having him through elementary school, jr. high, high school, college, and even a second bachelor's degree (had I been so inclined). It's enormous, It's nearly half my life. And now I have a hole in my life. Actually, it's not just a hole. It's deeper than that. A huge chunk of my identity was linked to being Killer's mom. Some very old friends and coworkers have recently found me on Facebook, and when they saw my status that Killer had died, they remembered him. I realize that most people who talk about their pets a lot might seem odd, but Killer was simply a huge part of my life, and clearly I talked about him a lot if friends, even COWORKERS, from the early 90's remember him. I make no apologies because he was pure joy and laughter for me. And he was such a character. He had a different name for the first 3 days- jersey, like a cow. But he soon earned his name-- I have the scars to prove it. He was often cantankerous and ornery, but was also my constant and loyal companion. He made me laugh. He comforted me when I was sad or sick. And he loved me through a ridiculous amount of moves and one or two not-so-cat-friendly boyfriends. (Killer was always my priority, so they didn't last long) When he was about 2 years old, he got out one day (this was the ONE AND ONLY time I had roommates- because of this incident) and I found him wobbling down the sidewalk, having been doused in gasoline by some future homicidal maniac. He survived, thanks to the quick thinking of my friend Adam. A few months after Adam saved Killer's life, I ended up saving Adam's life with a Heimlich when he was choking on a piece of steak. Strange how life works. For the last 4.5 years, Killer had diabetes. I had to give him insulin injections every 12 hours. Make sure he ate beforehand. Watch his diet. It was definitely a social life-limiting type of routine, but I did it gladly because it was what he needed. I also had the help of a great pet sitter. When I bought my house in 2004, there was a certain bittersweet moment when I realized that Killer would die in this house. But I was also glad that he wouldn't ever have to endure another move. He had already endured more than 18 moves with me. I was committed to making his last years truly golden. I built him (and our other cats) a 50'x10' outdoor enclosure, with 12' high ceiling, with hard cage material that went in to the ground at least a foot (so no evil critters could dig underneath it), with self-service cat access in and out from the house. He loved being outdoors in the fresh air. And I loved that he was totally safe out there. I had recently put grass down and it truly warmed my heart that he spent many hours out there during his last week home. I was Killer's mom for so long. A huge piece of my identity is gone. Who will I be now? I wonder. I miss his loud meow as he would walk around the house and talk to us. I miss his purr. It was louder than any cat's I knew. I miss his love of frozen yogurt, and letting him lick the lid. I miss his loyal presence as he followed me from room to room. I miss his love of licking the floor of the shower after I came out, He would wait for me patiently as I showered. I could see his black and white form through the curtain. He was simply always there, for 19 years. Most of all I miss his heart, which as you can see by the pic, he wore on his sleeve.
