There have been big and exciting doings afoot here in the Two Wishes household, and I can’t wait to write about them! Hopefully tonight or tomorrow…. But meanwhile, Tuesday’s post about the cats and Caitlin’s kind questions about One-Eyed Jack have had me thinking about my sweet orange boy. I feel a need to say one last goodbye to him in a somewhat public way. So, please bear with me….
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I was never a “Cat Person” until I met Jack. The cats I met as a youth were always indifferent creatures, and I never understood why anyone would keep a pet who didn’t particularly care whether you were around, other than to work the can opener at feeding time.
But while clerking in Tulsa in 2000-2001, I had a lot of free time on my hands. And I decided to use some of that free time volunteering for a charity that found homes for abandoned animals. I spent weekends at PetsMart happily playing with the dogs and cringing on the few occasions I was assigned to work with the cats, who generally just sat in their cages and cast surly looks at me all afternoon.
And then, one day, there was a particular orange cat…. When I got to his cage in the middle of the top row, he stopped me, looked me straight in the eye, made a sound in the neighborhood of “Buddy! Where’ve you been all my life?!?”, dropped to the floor of his cage and started rolling around to plead for petting. When I reached in for a scratch, he rolled harder in ecstasy. I opened his cage to pick him up, and he snuggled against my shoulder in a Big Kitty Hug. He had a problem with one eye — some sort of cataract that frankly wasn’t much to look at — but he was the friendliest cat I’d ever seen and a cheery bright orange color to boot, and I adored him and vowed to find him a family before the day was out.
All day, people came and went. Many stopped by the orange cat’s cage and remarked that he was a great cat. But then they would comment on his damaged eye, and walk away. At first, I was angry that no one could see past something so silly and cosmetic. But as the day went on, I started to feel jealous when they talked to the orange cat, and relieved when they walked away. Because, I realized, I wanted this cat for myself!
I had never planned on getting a cat, but I needed to send my dog away to my parents’ for a few years while I worked long hours in my next career, and I knew cats were more independent and of course didn’t need mid-day walks. And it would be nice to have a pet of some sort…. So I adopted the orange cat that afternoon. I named him Jack, because I had always liked the idea of a cat named Jack. It just sounded like a good cat name.
As it turns out, it’s lucky I chose the name Jack, because the orange cat was already named Jack by his foster vet! Specifically, “One-Eyed Jack” because of his most noticeable attribute…. From what the vet knew, Jack was about one year old. He had been adopted by a family as a kitten. They had raised him and declawed him, though had not neutered him. Then one day, they moved away and simply left without him.
Little clawless Jack was left to fend for himself on the streets of Tulsa in winter. Jack made friends with a lady from the same apartment complex, who could not take him in but fed him regularly. Until he was hit by a car — it was that accident that took his eye (and later some broken teeth as well) — and the kind lady brought him to the vet, who fixed him up and fostered him until he was well.
It touches me deeply that, throughout his life, Jack loved people. Whenever someone visited my home — whether friend or stranger — Jack would be the first to greet her at the door. He would climb into the lap of any person who sat down for more than 10 minutes. He always turned to humans for help and comfort when something went wrong. People hurt Jack several times in his early life, whether purposely (abandonment), accidentally (car accident), or even in attempts to help him (medical procedures), and he never let that turn him bitter or wary of people.
Jack gave his love to the world and he expected only love from the world. And except for the one early exception of his first family (and one big accident), he got love in return. He asked people for help and affection, and he got it. And even declawed, one-eyed, and missing a few important teeth, the boy believed he was fierce. And so he was fierce. He taught me many lessons about creating the life that you believe you should have.
In the end, we lost Jack unexpectedly at the age of 7. He had a genetic heart condition that probably had been with him all his life, and his enlarged heart just gave out on him. It seems ironic, to me, that Jack’s big heart killed him in the end.
And yet even knowing what happened (and I know I’m sort of stretching the metaphor here, but you know…), I ‘m convinced Jack would keep his big heart if he had the chance to do it all over again.
We miss you, Jack. We miss you so much. Rest in peace, buddy.
