Jack the Black Cat

A NYC Cat Tale, Part 1

JACK THE BLACK CAT

2/2015-6/6/2023

2015-2023

June 6, 2023

I woke up this morning at first light, slightly past 5:00, to Kitty’s rubbing and nudging for breakfast. I immediately wondered where Jack was, because he’s usually the first one begging for food.

I got out of bed to look for him, heart beating hard, needing to pee, and upon entering the kitchen, saw him lying on the floor beside his water bowl.

I bent to rub his belly, and said good morning Jackie, and noticed he wasn’t moving, or breathing. His eyes were open, his tongue lolling in the side of his slackened jaw. He was still warm, the floor around him was wet with his own bodily fluids.

My heart thudded and my mind started buzzing, thoughts like busy, pissed off bees. No, no, no, no no, no. This is impossible, nope, not real, can’t be real.

I couldn’t breathe. someone, anyone, help me,

I don’t know what to do. I can’t think.

In my panic I started throwing on clothes, call a car! go to vet ER!

and then, with a mouth full of toothpaste, I came to a full stop.

There was no emergency.

Jack was dead

The only emergency would be how I’d deal with it.

My soul companion was gone.

His cycle with me was complete.

I bent and picked him up gingerly, my precious gift, and wrapped him in a cozy, soft flannel sheet, placed him in his favorite spot on the desk in front of the living room window. This empty shell was not Jack. This limp mass of flesh and fur was not alive.

Jack was spirited away to wherever all the best souls go.

I called my brother and asked him to come help me figure out where to take the body. He found a crematory not too far away in Hartsdale, and we called to see when they opened. The woman who answered said, come on over. We drove for about 30 minutes, not an unpleasant ride through green suburbs, but all I could think about was the hole in my heart.

Jack.

He was only 8. Like that mattered now any more than it mattered when dad dropped dead at 41. Like age ever matters. When you have learned what you came here to learn, or done what your soul required, human age does not matter a whit. The soul has its own agenda.

We met when he was 3 months old, and 1 of 6 juveniles in need of homes that day. I went to CAP to adopt a kitten for Kitty, who seemed sad, bored and lonely since Bo and Twitchy had passed away. Giacomo, Jack, chose me, and it was a joy to know such a spirited and intentional soul.

Jack arrived to usher me through a major life transition. That transition was complete. 8 years of my life. Jack’s entire life.

Upon arriving we learned the crematory was attached to a small church and a pet cemetery, where we were invited to either bury the remains or sprinkle the ashes. I didn’t want to do either, but acquiesced, and agreed to take the ashes in a small, simple urn, which would be mailed to me.

I was shown into a small room with a table covered with a sheet, and a chair, and the technician placed Jack’s body upon it for me to say my final farewells. He told me to take as much time as I needed. I was not one for long, drawn out good byes, or emotional displays in public. There would be plenty of time to deal with the grief and other emotions.

A FEW WEEKS BEFORE

In early May, both cats got sick. Kitty started sneezing, and after a few days, whatever it was hadn’t subsided and I called the vet to make an appointment. Their first open slot was in 3 days, and if it became an emergency, I could walk in by paying the $200 fee.

Kitty’s sneezing didn’t alarm me, she was eating, drinking enough water, was playful, and acting like herself, except for the sneezing. It seemed like her nasal passages were irritated, and I questioned if I’d used some new cleaning product in the house that could be making them sneeze, even though I was always supremely careful with cleaning products, and anything that’s fragranced or toxic to animals or people.

But then Jack too started sneezing, big, wet sneezes, a lot, frequently. If he were a human, he’d be the one who’s sneezes could be heard and felt a mile away. Every hour I cleaned and disinfected all the surfaces.

His sneezing seemed different from Kitty, and I could tell he was not himself. He nibbled at his dinner, but didn’t finish it. His ears were hot, eyes were watery, and his tail was low when he walked. He snuggled into my leg at night, a hot lump of sickness. I brought small cups of water to him, sometimes his tongue poked at it, mostly not. He’d sleep, like cats do, for short naps, and awaken sneezing. I didn’t know how to help him. I noticed one of his back paws had a slight tremor. Did he have some neuro episode? A stroke? Was his sickness worse than just allergies or a respiratory infection?

I left a message at the vets office that I’d be bringing Jack in the morning, not Kitty.

We waited a long time before being seen. It was raining, and the office was busy and filled with cranky people and sick animals. The vet tech took Jack from me, and returned 10 minutes later after a cursory check up. They told me it wasn’t a respiratory infection, he wasn’t coughing, lungs were clear blah blah. It was an allergy, possibly. They said to make sure he eats, give him anything, even poor quality food, which is cat junk food. But I knew if a cat cannot smell its food, it won’t eat it. Jack nibbled, but didn’t eat. They sent me home.

The next day I walked into the clinic with Jack, muttering about malpractice and medical negligence. Jack was burning up with fever. It was 103.7 when the vet took it almost an hour later. Obviously he had some kind of infection, which they told me he didn’t have yesterday. I was confused. How could “nothing” make him so sick?

I mentioned the tremor, could it be more serious? They told me not to worry about that, getting the fever down was more important. They injected Jack with a potent, long acting antibiotic, which would release over 2 weeks. I got another medicine to give him at home twice a day for a week. I agreed to a complete blood panel to rule out anything/everything. They wanted to test his urine as well, and because he was dehydrated, had to subcutaneously infuse him with fluids, with the hopes that enough would be absorbed into his very dry bladder to get a sample. The vet reiterated to give him any type of food he’d eat, even junk food. And he needed to drink water.

1500 dollars later, we went home.

The next day Jack came to sit on the window sill in the living room, his favorite spot. Within a week, though he was still sneezing, his fever had subsided and he started to eat. When I saw him chasing his tail, doing his happy dance, I knew he was better.

WILDFIRES

All this was happening as the skies over much of the country and Canada were orange, and the Air Quality Index was off the charts. Healthy numbers were below 30, and we were at 140. I could see the clouds of ash and smoke from the raging, out of control wildfires, hanging over the city. Anyone with respiratory illness was advised to stay inside. The public was advised to keep the windows closed, and avoid going out if possible

.

Could the toxic air have made the cats sick?

Did it kill Jack?