For Monkey

Monkey is with me, but in a different way now. Last Sunday night, sometime before 10pm, we ran him to an all night ER vet. I hope we gave him a good death, and a good life.

He spent the last few days playing “old man of Tuscany” lying out on the balcony in the sun. We even got him his own chair that was lower to ground, since jumping wasn’t easy anymore. Every time he thought I was going to move him or make him go inside he’d curl his little paws around the arms of the chair he was sitting in, as if to say, “Not yet Dad, just a little longer…”

I don’t think any person or animal has been with me as long, and as consistently. Yes, there are people I know and vaguely keep up with on Facebook, but we don’t talk. Not daily, not weekly, shit not even monthly, but I guess I am old. No one talks to anyone on the phone or even via chat on a weekly basis anymore. One friend I recently started talking to regularly, but I know if I didn’t send texts, and funny pics and make the effort to call, we probably would not be talking as often as we are. She helped me through hell and continued to check in when I was in a dark, dark place. A few people helped me through various periods of that time and I hate to admit … FARG! this was supposed to be about Monkey, not me.

Mr. Monkey was there, for all of it. The joy, the excitement, new loves, lost loves, yelling, the stress, the tears, school, jobs that came and went, he endured it all. I’m only happy he was able to live to see my life get happier. I do think partially why he left was because he thought I was finally OK. Me and Hollis are finally safe. He was always a guard kitty.

When I first got him and brought him home to my little studio on Goodman Ave. he spent most of the night sitting at the door. I’d try to get him to sleep on the bed, and he’d jump back down and sit right by the door all night. All day, every time he heard the elevator down the hall ding, he’d run to the door and do a little kitty growl. Took him few weeks until he learned what smells and people on my floor were safe.

When I got him I was between jobs, mostly working from home and waiting to get accepted into RIT’s Master’s in IT program. I had lots of free time, so we played. I built huge obstacle courses. I’d tie strings from one end of my studio to the other and hang little kitty toys from them. I could push the toys up and down the strings and they’d spin, ring, and make noise and he’d chase them all. I was so afraid he wouldn’t get enough exercise since my place was so small. I made “mountains” for him to climb out of books and pillows, and hid crinkly stuff all over. He’d dig and find them all and then hide them under my pillow. He loves crinkly things.

This ended up being a bad training program, because he also learned how to climb onto the kitchen counter and open my candy jar stealing neccos, smarties, and anything else he liked. I’d put a pop-tart on the counter and before I could get the toaster out, he’d jump on the counter and run away with the pop-tart.

His other favorite game is jumping to catch little furry or felt mice. He would have been an awesome goal keeper. At least 3-4 times a day we’d play kitty soccer. And if I was busy and he wanted to play, he’d hide behind a door, or a pile of books and just jump out at me until I got the hint and started throwing toys for him. He also got in the habit of tossing coins off my bookshelf until he got my attention. Yes, he’d sit there, one paw poised in front of a stack of pennies and look at me. Then WING, off they’d go. If I didn’t get up, he’d move next to the stack of nickels. I usually got up before the quarters went flying. LEGOs, books, little cartoon figurines all ended up on the floor, until I finally started Velcro-ing the fragile shit to the shelves.

He came with me everywhere. He’d sit on my shoulder while working, or while in the truck. If people said I couldn’t bring my kitten, I often stayed home. He was so small, I had a little Tupperware tray with a lid filled with litter as a travel litter box in my truck. If I went, he came with me. I brought a toy and his box.

When I had to work he sat on my shoulder until he got too big. Then he moved to my desk. I always had to pick out a desk big enough for working and a cat bed. I have so many photos of him on my desk, my laptop, pawing through my books or sleeping on my big old monitor for warmth, when it my apartment was cold. He was always with me.

Once he started to get big, he could crawl and climb around a lot. I’d find all sorts of things knocked on the floor when I was gone. Once school started keeping me busy and I was on campus for longer and longer hours with 2 TA positions, GA responsibilities, tutoring hours, etc., I would ask friends to just check on him. Some days I would be on campus from 8am until after 11pm. Those days I would drop him off at kitty daycare. Well, not really, Monkey stayed with my friend who had 2 cats and only lived about 3 blocks up Goodman from my place, near East Ave. She was already working on her thesis project, and was home more often than I. Her apartment was ground level, so the cats could chase chipmunks outside the window. My little man was always sitting right by the window when my truck or motorcycle pulled up. I was told he could probably hear the Ducati as soon as I hit Goodman St.

Of course he came with me when I moved to Brooklyn. Made a bed for him on top of my suitcases and computers in the back of my parent’s Subaru Forrester. He sat up there for whole 8-9hr drive. Didn’t take much research to realize bringing my 4×4 truck to NYC was not a brilliant idea. I sold the truck and my beloved Ducati. Yes, the Ducati that he’d jump to the window whenever he heard me coming. Part of me wondered how would he know I was on my way home? I started leaving the TV on if I was just going to the cafe to get coffee or something. I know, who is trained, me or the cat?

I still didn’t like leaving him home alone too long. He rode with me on the subways and buses from Flatbush to Hollis’ place in Alphabet City back when I was cat sitting for Hollis, or just spending the weekend. Actually Avenue C was a pretty cool place, not too gentrified yet, while we were there. I’d put him in a crate on a little roller thing and trucked him with me onto the Q or B subway to Union Square then catch the M14d bus and walk the last few blocks. Again, I didn’t want to leave him home alone too much. Fortunately he got along with Hollis’ 3 cats. Since Hollis had a female cat name Monkey, he was renamed Monkey Boy and hers, Monkey Girl. I do think they became pretty good friends. He kept his distance from the oldest cat, Eve, but slept butt to butt with Monkey Girl occasionally. Daisy, the bratty one of the bunch, he played with more often. He knew how to nip at her tail to get her to play chase.

He traveled to LA with us, the road trip that was a bit of hell and a bit of adventure all wrapped up in a bad flu. Even he got sick on the trip, but we found a vet in Sedona. We all spent some much needed nights of relaxing in the pretty sleepy little town.

In Los Angeles, I think he loved looking out the window again. Whether it was through the flowering vines of Los Feliz or crawling along the metal beams 20ft up, in the loft. He chased and caught cockroaches with his sisters, Daisy and Monkey Girl. An empty water carton was a good 20minutes of fun chasing Daisy in and out of it. On the cold mornings when you could see your breath while lying in bed… I’d look down and see him snuggled with all the other cats on the bed. Fortunately in LA those nights were few, but they were COLD.

The last few months, we’ve had to get a staircase for the bed. He tried to play. Unlike the hours of tossing mice when he was kitten, the play times now lastly barely minutes. We’ve left his favorite toy on the floor, just in case. I do believe, I have to believe your pets don’t leave. I have to believe, if they leave, they can come back for little visits. I still put his blanket out in my office, even though he never slept on it here. I keep the window open he likes to look out at night. And once in a while, I just think of him and my vision gets blurry, my head starts to hurt and tears roll down my cheek.

I have been taking care of him and more importantly and definitely the harder job, he has been taking care of me for 15 years. He was the best. I will miss our illegal naps on the couch. Watching him play with Hollis’ hair. He so loves her hair. I’ll miss his little snorts and growls while playing. His loud purrs. So much I will miss.

Fifteen years!

I don’t think I’ve been with anything or anyone for that long. Again, not on a day in and day out basis. We didn’t take a lot of trips, and have been home with him a lot. Getting up and not having to prepare any meds, or clean a box, or sweep litter is so unnerving. I really don’t know what to do some mornings. It hasn’t been a week. I make my tea and sit, and slowly go numb. Then something reminds me of him and I smile. We had a good run, a really damn good fucking run, my friend.

I keep telling myself, it was time. It was time. He told us. He was ready. To the Summerlands my good friend, and you’re always welcome where ever I may be.

Sorrow is how we learn to love. Your heart isn’t breaking. It hurts because it’s getting larger. The larger it gets, the more love it holds.
~ Rita Mae Brown

His ears were often the first thing to catch my tears.
~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning