My Trip To the Vet

Sitting in the back seat always made me feel like a kid again. It reminded me of the long trips my family used to take together to Missouri, or when my oldest sisters moved out, to Florida and Georgia. I could stare out the window for hours without getting bored, with the scenery always changing; I'd try to chase one tree with my eyes for as long as possible before it went out of view, then find another one and do it again and again until my eyes hurt. I'd do it all the way there and all the way back. I had the same routine every time we returned from a trip, too. I'd carry as much of my own belongings into my house and then immediately go out looking for my cats. We'd leave a large pan of cat food out and have a neighbor fill up a bowl of water. I had four at the time; Kit-Kat, Paws, Pumpkin, and Jazzy.



Kit-Kat was a large orange and white male, and even though I loved them all, he was always my favorite. When we had a bad ice-storm he'd be shivering because his paws were cold, so I'd bend over and he'd jump up on my back, and I'd transport him around like a backpack: a cat-pack, if you will. He had a special spot under his chin that he loved to have itched. He disappeared four years ago.

Paws was orange and looked like a lion. He bit like one, too. I'll always have something to remind me of him, because I have a large scar under my lips where he sliced me open. More often then not he wasn't biting out of anger though. He liked to have his head scratched and would try to bite you on the chin timidly if you scratched him in the right spot, a bite which my dad referred to as a love bite, and he always managed to hit a nerve and send a tingling sensation up your entire face. I'd give anything to feel that again. He was the first cat I lost, almost seven years ago. He was hit by a car.

Pumpkin was a small, nervous black, white, and brown calico. She had a history of disappearing for weeks to months at a time, but always returned. I would wonder if she was off trying to find her own home; my mom once told me the story of how when she was a kitten she followed my dad and sister home while they were out on a walk. She had a broken meow, and was afraid of pretty much everyone except me and my dad. She had the most adorable paws. She disappeared over a year ago, and I'd like to think she simply found her real home this time.

Jazzy, short for Jasmine, was my best friend. She wasn't always my favorite, but when you've known someone your entire life you grow close to them. She was small, and black and gray, with white specks splattered all across her body. She was born on April 10th, 1994, one day before myself. She was 18 years old. My parents brought her home a few days after me, and we had been together ever since. I had always regarded her meow as loud and a little obnoxious, but I enjoyed listening to her talk. She always sounded like she was asking questions.

It was the night before when I got the call from my dad. They were going to see her at 7:45 the next morning, he said, and asked if I wanted to come along. "Of course." The car ride to the veterinary office was long and quiet. I sat in the back seat, looking out the window like I had done a hundred times before. At home there wasn't a pan full of food or a bowl of water anymore. When we arrived we told the receptionist we were there to see Jazzy.

"Have you already talked to the doctor?" We had. She disappeared into a back room and my parents and I sat for a long time waiting. They talked about finances and future plans, but I was quiet; my mind was on other things. I was glad to see her again. She had been at the vet for a few days and I hadn't heard much about her. The last time I saw her I was working in the garage complaining about money to her while she slept peacefully in a cardboard box full of trash. She didn't care about my money problems, she just wanted the box, but to be fair she was always an excellent listener. Eventually the doctor, a young man, came out of a door that led to a room off to the right.

"She's in here." The room was small, and had a small table off to the side. "Under the towel." Jazzy always loved to be under something or in something. Boxes, clothes, cars, whatever she could find, not unlike many cats. The doctor walked out quietly and closed the door. The three of us stood there for a few seconds in a solemn remembrance.

My mom and dad both went slowly to remove the towel, as my mom started to say "you know, she was glad to be here. When we first brought her in she layed down on the table as we all petted her and scratched her head. You know how much she loved to be inside." I did. I remember always feeling bad for her during the cold winters. She would stand at our back door and cry for us to let her in, and then jump up and swat at the handle as if to say "if you wont open it, I'll do it myself!"

The towel was off now. My best friend was on the table motionless. Her whiskers were out of place as if she had been laying on them weird all night. I reached out my hand and touched her cold fur as the tears started to roll down my face uncontrollably. I felt her ears and scratched them softly, like I had always done. Maybe it was out of habit; I knew she wouldn't feel it, but I did, and that's what mattered to me.

My mom softly stroked her paws and started to sob as she told me a story about how when she was a kitten she would sleep with my sister Jennifer. Every morning she'd find her in Jen's bed. My mom loves animals as much as I do. We hugged and cried for a long time. I'm not a particularly emotional person, but saying goodbye isn't easy for anyone. I try to remember the 18 good years we had together though, and I'm thankful for every day. She wasn't the cutest or the nicest or the softest, but she was mine, and she, and my other cats, will always hold a very special place in my heart.

She didn't like it when I took pictures of her, but I managed to sneak a half-decent one a few weeks ago.

She is missed deeply.