The Ninth Life

It was the scales that tipped me over.... tipped so unexpectedly in one direction that I fell off. Tumbling down an unexpected abyss that had appeared out of nowhere.

I couldn't exactly say that he was a good cat. He really wasn't. My earliest memories after bringing him home are those of pain. He earned the name "Ow".

As a kitten, only days after he arrived, he tortured me through lonely nights. He pounced on even a fraction of exposed skin, biting so hard as to wake Sleeping Beauty from her slumber - and in a steamy old Victorian townhouse in the middle of Jersey City, I was no Sleeping Beauty. No air-conditioning, just a playful kitten with no manners in 100 degree temperatures. And how I loved and hated that sheet that suffocated me. It locked the heat and humidity against me and keept me from even the stale, lazy breeze from the tired fan - yet it protected me from him - from his claws and teeth as he tried desperately to keep me awake.

He made friends with no one... Not the other cat, shocked and dismayed to discover she would have to share her space... Not me, after he leaped at my wedding veil (hung on the wall to ensure the drying of the fresh flowers) leaving torn ragged shreds of tulle... and not family and friends who only felt the pain of his attack in response to efforts of friendship.

He was always there - hissing, growling, spitting. Yet, occasionally and unexpectedly, he would crawl up on to my chest in bed and throw his paws around my neck. Sometimes he would flop over on to his back for a 10 minute belly rub from my daughter. Sometimes he would walk up to the other cat and give him a big, old affectionate head rub. He was there - around for 16 years... but then he got old.

I wasn't happy about taking him to the vet. He didn't like the vet. But he didn't look well. He looked skinnier than his usual 12 lb frame and maybe he needed antibiotics. Something was up with him, he obviously didn't feel good. But it was the scales that did it.

"What's his name", said the vet.

"Ow", I replied, "as in ouch that hurts".

"Hmm", said the vet as he plopped a cartoon version of my cat, all bones and tufty, crazy fur on the scales.

"Well Ow weighs 7.2 lbs"

The scales tipped, and I tumbled. I thought he just needed antibiotics.

It turns out he's not invincible, that mean, nasty, lovable, incredible, wonderful cat.

RIP Ow - died in his sleep peacefully today - at home and loved.