Saying Goodbye to a Friend

By Rob Seidner

Some people consider their childhood over when they have a benai mitzvah, graduation, job, marriage or the like; I am almost 27 and my childhood will end this winter when I will take Freckles, my childhood cat and steadfast friend, to the vet and humanely end her suffering. I feel no shame in the pain I feel and those who did not have the privilege to have a childhood relationship with a loyal companion will sadly never understand this.

I am lucky that Freckles lasted so long into my twenties. In the past few years, one by one, my friends' pets have died. Meredith, my first girlfriend, lost Minnie last spring. Julie, my witty housemate, buried Speckles the year before. My closest friendship was sealed when I commiserated with Amy when her Blackie died. Timmy, my oldest friend, has recently lost many of his rabbits that lived abnormally long lives. For those of us whose companions straddled youth, adolescences and into adulthood, there is no other pet or person who can fill the hole in our heart. The loss of our first unconditional love is never mitigated or replaced.

Freckles and I have been inseparable since I was ten. I wanted a cat so badly and was genuinely surprised when on December 24, 1986 - one of the rare times Hanukkah and Christmas Eve coincided, I opened a box and this little runt of a cat meowed at me. It was love at first sight. She fit in the palm of my hand, but for the rest of my life, it was me in her paw.

Freckles was an extraordinary cat by any standards. A beautiful tortoise shell calico who never weighed more than ten pounds, she had more personality than most people I have ever met. She came when called, rolled over, and ingeniously mimicked English words with her meows. As a kitten, she was a prodigious hunter, presenting me with 12 birds in her first summer. That stopped when two birds took revenge and tried to peck her every time she went outside. Exceedingly smart, she learned that when the alarm clock went off, she got food and thereafter sat on the alarm clock to make sure the snooze button could not be hit.

Freckles became my alter-ego and now, even my mom and wife have trouble discerning whether she modeled my personality or vice-versa. We share alternating moods of desiring vast amounts of attention and then just as quickly wanting to be left alone. We duel over getting our heads scratched and battle over food (she loves most people products). Heck, I even developed a fondness for catnip. The most unfortunate similarity is that I have but one chronic medical condition - advanced TMJ, a jaw disorder that grinds down the jaw joints and causes migraines that has already wiped out half of my right jaw joint - and Freckles is dying from a bone tumor in her right jaw.

Loyal only to me, she fiercely protected me from harm while growing up. When I would go for walks, she would follow a few steps behind, trying not to be noticed. She would run behind a tree, wait for me to advance, and then gallop to the next hiding spot. I once tested her and she followed me three miles without once coming to my side.

More importantly, Freckles was my rock. I did not have a pretty childhood or lots of confidants, but no matter the chaos, I knew I could retreat to my room and she would sit and purr in my ear until I felt better. I sometimes wonder whether I would have survived those years if it had not been for her dedication to me.

I went off to college and missed her frightfully. I once struck out with a really good looking woman when I scared her with the comment that I really missed my cat in bed with me.

Whenever I came home for a break, she would at first give me the cold shoulder for leaving her. But, without fail, she would jump on my chest at some point on my first night home and all would be forgiven. Once I graduated and married my college sweetheart, finding an apartment that allowed cats became the main priority for us. Freckles moved in with us and slept with us for evermore.

As she aged, her weight atrophied until she was down to six pounds. However, that never stopped her from intimidating our 80-pound greyhound. When she realized she could no longer beat up the dog, she started instead to climb onto the greyhound's water bowl to drink. She also took to sleeping on the dog's bed to maintain her dominance in the house.

Even now as we near the end, Freckles has displayed the same pluckiness and joy of life, which has made my decision making even harder. I refuse to allow her to suffer and will not allow for any treatment that would be painful to simply extend her life a couple of months. I am battling the decision where to draw the line between a degrading quality of life and her resilient ability to derive pleasure from life despite the growing tumor. While adamant about not allowing her to feel pain, I do not want to deprive her of any last purring or dog intimidation. If she was clearly not happy, the choice would be easy. But the choice is more difficult because she is still having fun. However, I do not believe it is an advancement in medical science to keep any living creature alive when there is end-of-life anguish.

No one can make this decision but me and for all the outreach from my family, friends, and colleagues, I must walk this path myself. While there is Jewish law related to concern for suffering animals (tz'ar ba'alei chayim), there is not a mainstream Jewish ritual to acknowledge this situation. The contradiction is that the preservation of human life [pikuach nefesh] is considered to be of paramount importance, surpassing virtually all of the other commandments of the Torah, however, we are stewards to our pets and anointed with the responsibility to care for them and insure they do not suffer needlessly at any point in their lives.

The vet assured me that I would just know in my heart when she is suffering and I would not be able to allow it to go any further. Jewish tradition stresses the benefit of bedside vigils and time with dying, both for the afflicted for the mourner - its supposed to help me overcome my natural inclination to deny myself the grieving process. Until the moment arrives , I have spent a lot of time crying and spending every second holding her.

I am not ready to not have her in my life. I never will be, but my love will ensure that I do the right thing despite my selfish desire to keep her forever. I believe no cat heaven can be more of a paradise for her than my home and pray instead that she finds eternal peace resting in my heart.

Harry Chapin sang, "Old friends mean much more to me than the new friends, because they know where you are, and they've seen where you've been." Freckles is my oldest friend and my last vestige to my childhood. Many people have commented that I embraced adulthood because of how I survived a lot, was young when I married and bought a house, but the truth is I never feared being older because Freckles tied me down as a constant source in my life. It is only now that I say goodbye to childhood. When I grasp her for that last time, the chapter is closed and I must find the way on my own for the first time.

Rob and his wife Debbie have two cats, Cecilia and Raja. "Cecilia (May) has staked out the bed as her territory and does not let Raja (Nikky) on it. In turn, Raja controls the rest of the apartment. They both seem fine with this arrangement. Cecilia likes giving massages and is actually pretty good at it. She'll jump on my back and start kneading and licking the back of my head!"