A Sad, Hard Update

Hello there, dear readers. I’ve been debating the best way to tell the largest number of people in my life what’s been going on lately, and I settled on this newsletter, which isn’t explicitly about my personal life but does go to many people who know me well.

The news is this: I had to say goodbye to my cat Oskar recently. He’d been sick for months, and eventually there was just too much for us to overcome. I miss him so, so much. I wish I could say something soothing like “we had a good life together and he lived to a ripe old age” and certainly I have said that to people and it is true. But mostly I do not feel wise and mature about this loss and I just want him back. Having a pet is such a specific experience in life—it’s a very physical relationship, and they’re so present in your home that you don’t even realize how embedded they are until they’re gone. I come home and have to remind myself I don’t need to stick my foot in the door as I open it to keep him from poking his nose out. I set down the book I’m reading and think, I should brush my teeth and go to bed, but if I brush my teeth I’ll have to give the cat his treat (please do not question this sequence of events, it was a deal we agreed upon and you do not back out of a food deal with a cat). And now suddenly I have this feeling of unreality in my life, because nothing about my home feels right.

He was the best, best cat. He was so intense and he loved two things in this world: cat food and me. And at the end of his life he didn’t love food as much but he still loved me, and not having him anymore feels like the worst skill I’ve ever had to learn. It’s very hard to lose the thing you go to for comfort when you’re sad. I don’t even know if I could say he had some sixth sense for knowing when I was upset, because if I was home then he was already with me, lying on top of me, shoving my phone or my book out of the way with his head or his paw.

I never brought a single person into this home that he welcomed (on rare occasions people graduated to toleration and sometimes an ankle bump). His preferred tactic was to sit across the room glaring balefully and hoping his tiny fury was communicated clearly enough that they’d leave quickly. On special occasions he’d come out and do a little razzle dazzle with his toys for them just to let them know what they were missing. He was rude and unfriendly to my roommate even though my roommate literally helped me pick Oskar out as a kitten and lived with him for almost his entire life. I had to start warning petsitters that he got very agitated around meal times after a friend got yelled at so much in the dark as she groped for the light switch to put out his food that she texted and asked if he was all right. Until he got sick, he sat outside my bedroom door and yelled until I fed him breakfast, which was consistently around 8am unless we had company staying over, in which case it was 5am.

He also was a devoted food thief. He loved carbs in a way that made no sense for a predator, and he would bide his time and plan heists. One time he broke into a cabinet and ripped some Pillsbury crescent rolls out of plastic bags. Another time a friend got me a nice fresh challah and Oskar stole chunks of it out of his messenger bag before he could give it to me. He tore through aluminum foil regularly to get at freshly baked items that were cooling on the counter. I stored his dry food in a large plastic tub with a lid and then I’d find the tub on the floor in the morning. In grad school I got an automated feeder for him because I knew I’d be gone for long hours, and then one night while I was watching TV at the apartment, I discovered him prying the lid off with his claws and stealing servings.

He was such a little curmudgeon but he was also so funny and so loving. Cats have this reputation for being aloof but that cat did not accept anything other than sitting as close as possible to my face the minute I got home. His preferred position was for me to lie down so he could lay on my chest, stick his nose in my ear, and purr so hard a whistling noise came out while I rubbed his tummy.

If I could freeze any moment in time forever, it would be that. I would get up on a sunny, lazy Saturday morning, put his food out, lie down on the couch, and wait for him to join me.

It’s very weird to be me without Oskar in this world. He’s been a fixture of almost my entire adult life so far. I don’t know how 15 years passed with him, although when I think about it clearly I remember that I got him when Obama was running for president the first time, and that was at least 500 years ago. Someday maybe I will be a tiny bit less sad about this, but in the meantime, I reserve the right to restart this newsletter with a regular section devoted to a rambling story about something I miss about him. Thanks for reading this far, and the next time you’re so happy a whistling noise comes out of your nose, remember to do it in his honor.