Plum Crazy

My sweet little kitty, Jane Eyre, was put down this morning. The growth in her lung had gotten bigger, and she couldn't breathe well any longer. She was hacking or wheezing most of the time, unable to get comfortable. There was nothing the vets could do for her. She had a very bad reaction to chemotherapy, so that wasn't an option. As long as her breathing was all right, she could live with the lump. But that stopped two nights ago. The vet tried giving her asthma medication, to see if that might help, but it did not. At that point, it was clear that she was suffering without any help available. She was almost 15 years old.

She was the sweetest, happiest, most content kitty I ever knew. Even the vets would always remark at how she never complained, regardless of what they did. Even a shot in her muscle wouldn't evoke a flinch or meow.

I remember when I first got her. It was in September 1990. She was 12 weeks old. She had been abandoned by her previous owner. I was at the apartment of a woman who worked for Friends of Animal, picking out two kittens. I sat down on the woman's bed in a roomful of kittens. Jane jumped on the bed and immediately curled up by my leg and went to sleep. I knew then that I would take her home. She had picked me, after all. How could I not?

I took her back to my apartment. At first, she was scared and confused. She immediately hid under the bed. It was a daybed with a trundle underneath it, but she was such a small kitten that she could squeeze underneath the trundle. She wouldn't come out for two days. I put food and water by the foot of the bed. After a couple of days, she finally came out. From that time on, she was very attached to me (and I to her). She was scared of everyone else (other than the vet), but she loved and trusted me completely.

She was always good at finding places to hide, though. She did like to curl up in cozy, covered places. When I moved into Manhattan, into a studio apartment, I was terrified that she had somehow gotten out. I couldn't find her for hours. She had managed to jump behind the refrigerator and go to sleep underneath it. If the closet doors would open, I would often find her curled up in the back of the closet. She would regularly disguise herself as a quilt as well, especially during colder weather.

But she would also sleep next to me on the bed. She would flirt with me when I came home, playing roly poly. She would hold my head down with her paw so she could clean my face. Apparently she had mistaken me for her kitten, even though she never had kittens. And she would purr. Boy would she purr. She purred more loudly than any cat I've ever known. Especially for such a small cat.

I will miss her terribly. It's hard for me to believe that I will never see her again, hold her, kiss her little head, or hear her purr. But at least she's not suffering now.

Goodbye Jangel. I will always love you.