June 7, 2008
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How We Became The Sam’s Peeps, Part One: Jaguar
In the summer of 2000, my younger brother told me that there was a stray cat hanging out in his/my mom’s yard. I am fairly certain that if they didn’t already have a kitty, they would have adopted him.
We did not have a kitty, and had not had one in well over a year.
So we came over one night and there he was. Once I get a scanner that works, I will scan in a few photos of him. We named him Jaguar (“Jag”) because he was long and sleek like a jaguar.
He climbed right up onto my then-boyfriend, now-husband’s lap and purred. LOUDLY.
We took him home. He did not have a collar, but we figured he had to have been someone’s pet; he was clearly litter-trained, and he was very sweet and loving. We called local vet’s offices to see if anyone had reported a missing cat, and we checked the bulletin boards at the supermarkets, Lost & Found articles in the local newpapers. We did not see him listed anywhere.
Jag made himself at home at our place. He started sleeping with us the very first night we had him. He ate like he hadn’t eaten in a log time. He sat completely still while we pulled about a dozen ticks from the insides of his ears.
After about two weeks of looking through Lost & Found ads, we decided he was ours. Actually, I think HE decided he was ours! He never seemed to prefer one of us over the other; he seemed as happy on my lap as my guy’s. Anyway, once we all decided we were going to be a threesome, I called our old vet’s office to make him an appointment.
Our old vet had retired and a new guy, who we called “Dr. Kris” had taken over. We brought Jag over to him for an exam and shots, etc.
Over the next four months, Jag spent more time at Dr. Kris’s hospital than he did at home with us, unfortunately. At first, everything seemed okay. Then Jag developed a little cough. Dr. Kris ran tests and nothing showed up on any of them. It was suggested that maybe the cough was because we were both smokers. So we stopped smoking in our apartment altogether and gave the whole place a good cleaning and airing out.
The coughing continued and seemed to even get worse. I brought him back to Dr. Kris when he stopped eating and started drooling profusely. They ran more tests, and again, nothing showed up. The poor little guy growled a lot, especially if you touched his belly, but purred loudly when we petted his head and back.
Frustrated, Dr. Kris suggested exploratory surgery. We were not rich (still aren’t!), but we could not stand to watch Jag continue to be in pain. So we opted for the exploratory surgery. I went in to see him, try to entice him to eat a little something, maybe play with his favourite mouse-toy… but he just laid there on the exam table, alternately growling and purring. I cried all the way home that night. I remember wishing they would just do the surgery that night and get it over with.
The next day was a Saturday morning. I sat out on our front porch with the phone next to me, chain smoking and reading Gone With the Wind for the third or fourth time. I was anxious and irritable to say the least, waiting for some news. When the phone finally rang later in the morning, I was overcome with a sense of dread. Seeing him the night before, the way he just laid there and looked up at me, I did not hold out much hope for our boy.
When Dr. Kris opened him up, he found that cancer had taken most of Jag’s intestines. He would continue to suffer. I told the doctor not to wake him up.
I had not cried that hard over a cat in years. We’d only had Jag with us for four months, but he had been such a good cat, so sweet and so gentle for such a big guy. We loved him so much, and he loved us back.
A few weeks later, my guy and I were in the car, on our way to Dr. Kris’s hospital, to pick up Jag’s ashes. I wanted him to have a place of honour in our family’s little pet cemetery at my mom’s house.
On the way there, my guy tried to cheer me up a little. He recited (his version of) Sam I Am (Dr. Seuss always cheers me up!).
When we got there, They handed me a little brown shopping bag with a little tin and an envelope in it. Obviously the tin (very pretty, floral design on it) contained Jag. The envelope contained a certificate of cremation with a sad little poem on it. The lady behind the desk handed me a tissue and told me to stay for a minute, that the doctor wanted to see us.
Dr. Kris came out and told us how sorry he was that he couldn’t help our boy, that he was such a good cat. Over those past few months, we had gotten to be “regulars” in his office, and we had gotten to know him and his staff pretty well. Dr. Kris is one of those very rare veterinarians that are actually in it because they love animals and not because they want to make a bunch of money (I had had a lot of experience with THOSE kind of vets before with other cats). His condolences were genuine and heart-felt.
Then he said, “Listen, I know it is very soon… BUT… we had an open adoption here yesterday, and I have one kitten left. He’s male, neutered and already has all of his shots… and I think he would be a really good fit for you guys. If you want, I can bring him up so you can see him, maybe hang out in an exam room with him for a little while, see if you like him…”
I said, “No,” and my guy said, “Okay, yeah” at the same time. Then we looked at each other. I could see my guy was really interested, so I changed my mind and said, “Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt to look…”
But I had absolutely NO intention of getting another cat. It hurt too much to get attached and then lose them.
So, while Dr. Kris went downstairs to get the kitten, I began looking at the photos of Dr. Kris’s patients on the bulletin board in the office.
When I heard, “Here he is,” I turned to look.
My breath caught in my throat. I made “the noise” (according to my husband, I make a certain “cute” noise when I really like something I see).
In his arms, Dr. Kris held a giant ball of gray and white fur with huge round eyes. Those eyes met mine. And in my head, I heard, “That’s Sam.”
But no, no, no… what am I thinking? I’m here for JAG. I don’t want another cat.
The first thing I said out loud was, “How old is he?” Because he had said “kitten”, and this pile of fur was HUGE for a kitten. “Three months,” the doctor said. I guess I made some kind of face, because he said,”Yeah, he’s a big boy.” The fur-ball looked like he had some maine coon in him, that’s for sure!
I followed the Doctor, my guy, and the fur-ball I had already (in my head) named Sam into an exam room. The doctor put the ball of fur on the table and left us alone with the giant kitten to get acquainted.
He wouldn’t come to my boyfriend, and he wouldn’t come to me (and when I think about it, now, I don’t really blame him… I must have looked scary, all red-eyed and everything). After few minutes of trying to get him to come to us, I said, “Maybe he just isn’t our cat, ya know?” And I sat on the floor “Indian-style”, with the little brown shopping bag on my leg.
I looked down into the bag and started to cry again.
That was when a giant, soft white paw very gently patted away a tear from my cheek. I looked at this furry little creature and his big round eyes were fixed on me. He meowed and it was such a sweet-sounding “baby” meow, it was like it pulled at my heart. He let me pet him and he head-butted me. Made me smile, even though I was still crying. Then he let my boyfriend pet him. My guy’s eyes were lit up.
I knew for sure then that I had lost my resolve to not get another cat. I knew he WAS our cat.
We left him in the exam room and walked out into the office. The office girls said, “Well?” and I said, “We’re gonna take Sam home.” Everyone started laughing and said, “You NAMED him already???” and I said, “Yeah.” My guy said something along the lines of “She names everything.” Indeed, he says even now, if I name something, it means it is mine and there is no turning back. LOL
They offered to keep Sam for that weekend so that they could give him a bath and clip his nails, etc. And when they took Sam out of that exam room to bring him back downstairs, they were hugging him and kissing him and telling him, “You’re going to have a really good home now, sweetie!” That made me feel really good.
I looked down into the little brown shopping bag and thought, “Thank you, Jag.”
Over the last eight years, we’ve thanked Jag repeatedly. There is always a little sadness when we remember Jag, becuase he was a great cat who deserved better, but we can’t think about how lucky we are to be Sam’s Peeps without remembering HIM, and expressing gratitude for that sweet, gentle beast.We made the last part of Jag’s life as comfortable as possible, and he led us to The Cat That Would Be King.
Coming soon: How We Became The Sam’s Peeps, Part Two: Getting to Know The Sam
