My Cat is Dead and My Kids aregetting Older

Kojiwas killed Tuesday night. I knew something wrong when he didn’t come home. Itold Doug about it on Wednesday. He said not to worry. Koji had gone missingbefore. “Don’t spiral,” he said, which was his go-to statement whenever I broughthim my concerns. It throws me off a little. I never thought of myself as aspiraler. But maybe I was a little melodramatic around Doug, because I knew Icould be.

Dougis usually right about stuff so I stopped worrying. But then Thursday rolledaround and there was still no sign of him. I posted his photo on ourneighborhood Facebook group. The photo is a closeup where you can see Koji’s kaleidoscopeeyes, the sprinkles of aqua mixed with the standard cat green. He lookedannoyed, but that was Koji. Indignant since the day that London found him onthe sidewalk. “He just came out of nowhere,” she said. He was so direct andfamiliar right off the bat, we were sure he belonged to someone. We asked around,but no one claimed him.

Dougwas adamant that we find another home for him. “We’re not having a seventh cat.”But cats are smarter than people think. Koji must have sensed Doug’s reluctancebecause the long-bodied tabby with the strange eyes and crooked feet went towork right away on the man of the house, rubbing against him whenever possibleand sitting in his lap at any opportune time. Always following him around thehouse, always chatting to him. “This is the loudest ass cat,” Doug would say, nolonger trying to disguise his affection. Annoyance turned to resignation, then love,and within days, we stopped looking for a new home for Koji and Doug stoppedasking if we had found one. If we had, I don’t think Doug would have let himleave.

SoKoji became part of the family, taking up shop in the scratching post designedto look like a cactus, hanging out in the garage on the old patio cushions,sleeping wedged in between Doug and me at night, filling up the space left vacantsince Sketch died a year earlier, soothing a wound that had never fully healed.The other cats accepted him pretty easily too. Well, except for Morrison, butthat was to be expected. The female tortie, who is also (un)affectionatelyknown as the Babadook, the Crazy Bitch, and Demonic Psycho Cat from Hell, hadspent the last year terrorizing Finn – the tuxedo we adopted when Sketch died –and smacking around the feral brothers who lived outside under our deck. Kojiwas just another interloper in a house full of interlopers to add to her shitlist. But unlike Finn, Koji didn’t take her aggression sitting down. He gave asgood as he got, smacking her across the eyes when she got too close, meetingher growl with one of his own. Witnessing Koji’s bravery gave Finn theconfidence to stand up to her too. These days Morrison stays in our bedroom, curledinto a little ball of hate on our duvet, only puffing up when one of the boysdared to cross the invisible boundary into her domain.

Aboutan hour after I posted the photo of Koji, a neighbor messaged me. He said his fiancésaw the body of a dead cat in the nature reserve. It had Koji’s markings. Myheart sank. “Do you know where in the nature reserve, exactly?” I wrote back,but I didn’t wait for a reply. I threw a bottle of water and some grocery bagsinto a backpack. Doug was sleeping off his long car ride back from San Antonioand I thought for a moment not to wake him, then figured, he probably wanted togo with me. And he did. He shot right out of bed and slid into his sneakers. Itwas just after three pm and still triple digits outside but we were on amission. Maybe the cat that our neighbor had seen was Koji. Maybe it wasn’t.But one thing was for certain, if it was our baby boy, then we were bringinghim home.

 We split up just outside of the local artist’shouse, at the entrance to the reserve where the trail forks. I went left andDoug went right. I must have scanned every square inch of the reserve, searchingfor death in a landscape painted in death, a massacre of dried grass and brownedplant, casualties of the driest, hottest summer on record. At times I caughtthe stench of decomposition in the air, but it left as soon it came. I knew fromthe time that a possum died under our porch, that where bodies laid to rest, fliesfollowed shortly after, but I saw none of those either, and I wished vaguelythat I had a dog or the senses of a dog to investigate better. At one point I thoughtperhaps I had psychic abilities that I didn’t know about, and I closed my eyesand raised my arms and waited for the weight of intuition to carry me in theright direction.

Finally,I called for him. Koji, Koji, Koji. Maybe he was in the reserve,but not as the dead animal my neighbor had seen, but a living thing, stuck upin a tree or hiding in a bush, still frightened but recovering  from a close brush with god-knows-what(probably a coyote).

Butwhat’s that saying? Hope is a violent thing. Hope can drive a man insane.It’s even crueler to women.

Aftertwo hours, we gave up.

Afterwe got home, the neighbor responded. He said his fiancé didn’t remember whereshe had seen him exactly but she had taken a photo. He sent it to me. It wasjust a paw sticking out over the dried grass. I imagined there was more to see,but he had cropped it out of mercy. I showed Doug. “Can you compare this with aphoto of Koji?” Doug has a million photos of Koji. I wandered away and sat onthe couch and pretended to read. After a while, Doug called me back into hisoffice. I walked back there and he looked up from his phone with tears poolingaround his eyes. He nodded slowly. I felt my chest caving in. I managed to makeit to my bedroom before collapsing into a pile of grief.  

Londoncame home from school and I told her and we cried in her room. We arrived atthe same conclusion separately not to tell Kaya, at least not right away, sincehe was going back to school and we didn’t want to ruin his shining moment.Honestly, we may never tell him, because he may never ask. I make fun of himsometimes, but secretly, I’m jealous of his ability to stay completely andutterly detached. God, how wonderful would it be to care about nothing but myself?Dear Santa, I’ve been a good girl, may I have self-absorption for Christmas? Pleaseand thanks.

Anyway,I didn’t feel like announcing Koji’s death on Facebook or telling anyone.Frankly, I’m tired of my own pity party. Kaya left today, so there’s that. Alreadyposted about it. Already have 80 plus “care” reactions. I don’t feel like pinningan addendum, “oh and by the way my cat was killed.” Welp, everyone look at me. SadErin. My cat is dead and my kids are getting older.

Yeah,no thanks.

Ididn’t even tell anyone at work either, which means I got to spend the day mutedin meetings while sobbing into a cold mug of Earl Gray. Answering any requeststhat came my way with the enthusiasm of someone who didn’t lose the most beautifuland precious creature on earth. “Erin, can you create this dashboard?” Ofcourse I can, yes sir. Milestones, deliverables, my cat is dead, my cat isdead. The deadline is Tuesday. Koji will have been dead a week by then.God, I hate time. How it ticks on. But let’s talk about dashboards, why thehell not.

Sidenote:I hope whatever attacked Koji chokes on his fucking bones. I know it’s natureand every living thing has to eat but I hope whatever predator (probably a coyote)attacked my baby boy gets rickets from the meat and dies in open grass gaspingfor breath until its loathsome heart ceases to beat. I hope Koji reincarnatesinto a buzzard and eats it right back.

Okay,maybe Doug is right. Maybe I am a spiraler.

Andmaybe I do need to talk about Koji. I need to tell someone what a great a cathe was, what a gift. I don’t want him to be forgotten.

Iwish it was you that I was telling this to, but we don’t talk anymore. I don’t knowwhy and I’m done trying to guess. So I’m writing this here, hoping one day you’llread this and take pity and reach out. Knowing you, you’ll probably drop me aline, pretending like nothing happened. Like these last six months when youbecame a ghost (why didn’t you wish me a happy birthday?) never happened. I’ll probablynever know why you ghosted me in the first place. And I’ll never ask youeither. It’s not that I don’t care. It’s that I care too much. I miss you and Imiss Koji and how can I be 45 years old and still not understand how toappreciate what I have while I have it? Why do I take everything for granted?It’s not like I’m getting any younger. I’m getting older. And I’m dying. Justlike everyone else.

Nowback to crying and those damn dashboards.

(Ilove you, Koji. I will never forget you. Thank you for the smiles, thelaughter, the tears. I love you, I love you, I love you.)