My Lost Boy Goes Home

I said my final good-bye today to my lost boy, my Nib. I named him Nib after one of the lost boys in Peter Pan .... after all, it seemed appropriate, as he came to us all those years ago when I still worked in the vet clinic, and he was found with no mother. A former client had come upon him and his two kitten siblings at the town dump, abandoned, and that was it. I fell in love.

He was dubbed "Twinkie" as a kitten, and considering how incredibly fat he became we probably should have stuck with that name. With his orange tabby coat he was the classic Garfield and as an adult we called him "Fat Boy" as often as Nib. Over his seven all to brief years with us he brought so much joy, love, stupidity, and laughter to this house that I could write twenty pages and not even scratch the surface. As a kitten he had a fondness for sleeping on my head at night (as his weight increased this became an obvious problem), he would greet you at the door like a dog, let you hold him like a baby, lay flat on his back so you could rub his very large belly, tuck his head under your chin in the evening when reclining on the couch, purring his loudest purr just so you could be absolutely sure you knew how content he really was, wrestle with his fellow cat friend, Mindy, attempt to trip Clay when lifting weights, and could always be counted on to keep you company in the bathroom.

Nib was also one of Isabelle's best friends. In the morning when she comes and lays in bed with me while Clay gets ready for work, Nib would join us in bed, but cuddle up and lay on Isabelle, her giggling and pushing her face into his. She would frequently lay with him on the living room floor using him as her pillow or brush him with his cat brush and they had a fondness for sitting together on Clay's chair, Nib in her lap while she watched her Saturday morning cartoons.

With his beautiful, loving heart it was so difficult to say farewell, but even more difficult to watch his steady decline over the last few days. Nib's sad start in life coupled with some poor genetics (he already outlived both his siblings) more then likely contributed to his on-going problems and the only outcome we could ultimately have.

Put simply I could not watch him suffer anymore, not when I could stop it, and not when he had loved me so much and so well. So, I stayed with him at the end and stroked and kissed his head and told him what a great boy he was and how much I loved him. And I said good-bye.

There are people who will not understand this grief, this heart-wrenching, sobbing grief, for what they see as a small, insignificant animal. For them I say, I am sorry. I am sorry, you have never known what it is like to be loved so fully by such an innocent creature or to make that connection, that bond with something not of your ilk. The truth is, you do not have to understand. My darling cat was a loving, beautiful soul and I will miss him terribly. Good-bye, my Nib.