Farewell, Joey

This blog has at times attempted to be quite high-minded and instructive, other times more introspective. Today it is going to become sentimental in an adolescent way because today I am going to mourn the loss of my cat, Joey, pictured here about 7 years ago.

This picture does not really do him justice. His fur was a beautiful, soft, shiny silver that caught the light like water. He had long legs and a small head like a cheetah, and though he was at least 14 years old, he looked as beautiful the last time I saw him as he does in this picture, and indeed the first day.

Joey was not really meant to be mine. The first time I saw him he was running down the street at top speed with his ears laid back, with two neighborhood dogs hot on his heels. The dogs didn't catch him, they almost never do, and the cat disappeared into a hedge. I saw him again a couple of days later; he was on our front porch peering in our window and meowing at the top of his lungs. After a day or two of this I was a goner. I wanted to put food out for him but I knew that would be delaying the inevitable, and I told Rob as much. We already had two cats that I had before we were married. It was early enough in our marriage that Rob probably had a hard time saying no to me. He has since got past that.

With what seemed to be Rob's blessing I brought the cat inside. He had a cut over his eye and his paw pads were bloody from his high speed chases on the asphalt. We cleaned him up, fed him, and took him to the vet to make sure he didn't introduce any new feline diseases to the population. He slept for two days straight.

At first things seemed to go well. He looked like another silver cat I used to have named Chloe, so Rob named him Joey. Joey was about a year old when we took him in and very playful. Rob used to entertain both himself and Joey for hours poking his finger out from under the sofa blanket or seat cushions. The cat was endlessly fascinated with this game, which we called blanket thing.

Joey was fearless, often tempting fate in a way most cats are too cautious to try. We had an older cat named Ben who had developed some curmudgeonly tendencies by this time, and didn't cotton much to the younger cat crowd, preferring to sit in meatloaf position on the sofa with his eyes half-closed. Joey used to take a bead on a dozing Ben from across the room, run across at top speed and do a drive-by pounce on Ben, making at least 3 passes each time. The first pass he would get away with the sneak attack, but by the second Ben was ready and he would deliver a perfectly timed blow to Joey's head just as he came into striking range that would send the younger cat reeling. Just to make sure it was not a fluke, Joey would make one more run at Ben, get sent packing, and call it a day.

Joey was also the most friendly and curious cat toward dogs I've ever known. He always wanted to engage them, surprising since he first came to me because he was running away from dogs. Once he greeted a friend's dog who had come visiting. A skirmish ensued and the next thing I knew we were picking silver fur out of the dog's teeth.

Joey was an easy cat to live with in many ways - clean, low maintenance, no vet bills - except one important one: he developed a habit of marking the belongings of people he liked, and since he liked almost everyone, there was a lot of marking. No one was spared, although I seemed to get tagged the least, and nothing we did seemed to discourage him, despite seeking advice from every source we could find, knowledgeable and otherwise. Over time Rob developed a deep loathing of Joey which he attributed to the marking problem, but the visceral, almost pre-verbal nature of his animosity for this very small animal seemed to me disproportionate to the crime. Many, many times I offered to find another home for Joey but Rob wouldn't take me up on it, insisting for some reason to put up with it. It became one of our rare points of contention, the kind of issue that can be a pressure valve in a marriage: you bicker about these little things to let off steam from daily life.

As Rob's animosity increased, Joey found himself restricted to smaller and smaller sections of the house. Recently he spent most of his time in my office curled up on my desk chair. Whenever I worked at my desk he jumped onto my lap and settled there, purring and gently working his paws. I was the only one who showed Joey any affection at all, yet as though he remembered all those games of blanket thing, Joey never stopped trying to get Rob to pet him or play with him, which of course did not happen.

Earlier this week we noticed that no one had seen Joey for at least a day. We looked everywhere, in all the closets and under all the beds. Joey was nowhere to be found. The only thing we could think of was that the door was left open when Rob was bringing stuff in from the car and Joey got out while I was at work. An indoor cat with a curious nature, an open door had always presented a flight opportunity and we were usually careful. But on that day, not careful enough. Since then I've looked around the neighborhood for him, waiting for the dogs to chase him down the street, but he is gone. It looks like Rob got his wish.

I am sad that it ended this way. It hurts to think of him out there alone, frightened and hungry, his beautiful soft fur matted and dirty. I hope someone has taken him in as I did all those years ago and that he is sitting on her lap right now, purring softly and working his paws.