when I met my wife back 16 years, she had two cats. More specifically, I lived in Alaska, and she lived just outside of Boston. We actually met on an airplane in March 1993, and something just clicked between us. On my first visit to her side of the continent, I met Captain Nemo and Gulliver. It turns out they were a package deal -"love me, love my cats" she said. Well, the first part was certainly true, and I was open enough to think that the second part was at least a possibility.
After more than a year of long-distance romance, it was time to do something drastic. My career options were far more limiting than hers, so she took the 4,000-mile leap of faith and moved to Alaska. I flew back to Massachusetts to help her finish packing, and then the four of us got on an airplane for Alaska. We carried the boys on the plane with us, and they sat on our laps as we flew to their new home.
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So we settled in and tried to become a family. Nemo was one year older than Gulliver, and definitely the Alpha cat in the house. He was also something more of a dog than a cat - he would sit at the table and beg for scraps. There was little he wouldn't eat, and he was particularly fond of McDonald's french fries (believe it or not). When we finally got an actual dog, he ran and hid in the loft of our duplex for days. What was this yappy little thing running around the place with boundless energy, anyway? But eventually he accepted our Australian shepherd as part of the family, and all was well.
Nemo was an extremely social cat, whereas Gulliver was more shy and reserved. If we had a New Year's Eve or Super Bowl party, Gulliver was nowhere to be found, but Nemo would be front and center on the ottoman, right in the middle of the action. Over the years, he became a trusted companion who would sit on my lap in the evenings as Mrs. frsbdg (yes, we did get married in 1996) and I watched some television.
If you've taken a moment to do the math, you know that Nemo was getting on in years, and in fact, we just celebrated his 18th birthday last month. For the past several years, he had been battling chronic sinusitis that antibiotics would hold in check when it would flare up. Kidneys and thyroid began working less efficiently, but there were meds for those. He eventually lost his hearing, which meant that he couldn't hear himself "meow" to wake me in the morning for his breakfast, but I didn't mind. He was the most reliable alarm clock around, because there was no snooze button on his stomach. In the last 6 months or so, he would wake up and be disoriented, crying out from a different room. So I would go pick him up and reassure him that he was safe.
And if you've noticed the use of past tense in this diary, you might also have guessed that we said "goodbye" to Nemo today. He had developed a tumor in his sinus that had begun to restrict his breathing. Medication could only do so much for him, and given his suite of conditions, surgery just didn't seem to be the right thing to do. We decided Monday morning that today would be the day, and I have to say that the last two days have been some of the saddest of my life. The last dinner feeding. The last breakfast. All his favorite foods with a side order of tears. He is at peace now, no longer struggling to breathe through a nose that just wasn't working anymore.
There seems to be a large contingent cat lovers here at dKos, although they seem to like the term "pooties" instead. My advice to you is to hug them while you have them. This diary was mostly just catharsis - to find a little something to help fill the hole where Nemo used to be. I consider myself lucky to have had such a wonderful soul be present in my life. If nothing else, Nemo taught me how important it is to remain open to the universe of possibilities out there. Challenge your beliefs regularly - maybe they aren't as solid as you think they are. Because although I didn't start out as a "cat person," I am proud to be one now.
Here's one of the last pictures I took of my beautiful little boy: