Goodbye to Julie

As a kitten in her first litter box, 2007. 

Julie's back paw, as she chills in my lap.  2019, Norwalk, CT. 

Last year, we got a new recliner. It had been assembled for minutes when Julie claimed it.  Fall 2020, Westfield, NJ.

Back in 2015, Julie and I lived on Staten Island, just the two of us, in a pitiful studio apartment.   I watched her every move, even closer that year than usual. One day, I noticed she’d been vomiting more than usual. I figured it was probably innocuous, but I was worried enough to take her to the vet. Somehow or another this led to me ordering her just about every scan in the book. And the news was quite unexpected. A heart murmur.   Julie has heart disease.   This news made my knees wobble. Heart disease? She was eight years old at the time. Yes, she was overweight. But, heart disease?   The veterinarian educated me more on the subject, and I learned that it was a matter for concern, but not panic.   Heart disease is not the same as heart failure.   Heart disease means thickening of the heart muscles. It will usually, eventually lead to heart failure, which is terminal.   But it doesn’t have to happen that way. It’s likely that millions of cats have...

It’s Monday night, August 30.  I remember clearly what I was doing a week ago right now. I was sitting where I’m sitting, and looking at Julie. It was the last night of her life, and it was the night I decided she had suffered enough.   There are times I can’t quite believe it was real, that it happened at all.   There are times I can’t quite believe I had her at all, that I was fortunate enough to spend 14 years with Julie.   And there are times, like now, that I can’t imagine what I will do without her.  

Relaxing on one of the many luxurious cat beds she enjoyed over the years.  New York City, 2014. 

Can't go to the bathroom in peace around here.  Winter 2020, Westfield, NJ.