So apparently my parents had to put OJ to sleep in March. They just told me. I don’t blame them. I’ve known for a while that things were coming to an end. I just wish they had told me then. I’ve been sensing for a while that something was up – they never mentioned him when we talked and seemed evasive when I asked about him.
Ugh. This sucks. I knew it was going to hurt but I didn’t know it was going to hurt this much.
OJ was a great cat – my first cat. We adopted him from the Humane Society in the fall of 1994. I was 14; he was two. I remember when I first saw him in his little cage, I knew he was my cat. There was something about the way that he was standing in his cage. He looked like he didn’t belong there. He was somewhat shy and introverted and I somehow identified with him. My parents thought I should consider adopting a kitten but I wanted the big fat orange cat. You know the one that looked like Garfield. When I adopted Mulder, I adopted him because he looked like OJ. Except not as big or orange.
OJ loved tuna. And black olives. He loved playing fetch with his little cotton mouse (he would actually bring the mouse back). He liked chirping at the birds outside. He hated other cats that encroached on his territory. He liked licking my mom’s hair, as some sort of odd feline grooming behavior. He liked sleeping under the covers and waking me up in the morning – I’ve awoken many times to a set of whiskers in my face.
When I’d come home from school, OJ would follow me to my room. If I was too busy with homework, he’d stand up on two legs, resting his head against one arm of my chair and nudge me with his paw. How could I be too busy to play with him? Whenever I was doing homework or studying for an exam, he’d jump up on my bed and sit right on the page of the book or binder I was reading. Clearly, he deserved more attention than whatever it was I was doing.
It is going to be weird to go home and not see him. At the same time, I know he was suffering during the past year.
He will be missed.