Catnapped

The video above was filmed in happier times, with my exboyfriend (*I'll call him Patrick*) and "our" cat Tijs during November 2004 at my brother's Vermont house. Sadly, Tijs only got to visit Vermont once or twice as my brother is deathly allergic. That's only the unlucky beginning to the tale of my misfortune regarding Tijs...today is his birthday actually (ok, it was appointed -- he was adopted, who knows really?!) and I'm missing him dearly.




Most of my friends and family know the sad story I am about to recount, but it's taken me a while to write down this saga or talk to strangers about it. Detailing my Tijs story, even in a diary, seems to make the loss realer somehow. I keep waiting for an amount of time to pass such that I'll be able to look back on my experience with some kind of wisdom or perspective. But being the eternal optimist and feline-o-phile I am, from the very start, I held out hope that my love for and connection with this particular cat would trump all obstacles. Currently, my main lesson learned is borrowed from Nietzsche: "A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything."




I know what you're thinking -- and yes, I am being rather melodramatic about A CAT. If all you dog-lovers or horse-lovers or whatever-lovers could put yourself in my shoes for a moment and remember what it's like to lose a beloved pet, I would be grateful for the understanding. Now, imagine your pet didn't pass away. Nope, this animal you adore simply lives a few blocks north with your ex's sister now. WTF? Indeed.

Patrick and I talked about adopting a cat together just a few months into our relationship. I had grown up with seven cats, read a million cat behavior books, and am generally known as a "cat lady," petting every single slinky feline that crosses my path. Some, including my ex, call me a cat whisperer.




My last cat, Pumpkin, had wandered off to kitty heaven while I was in college. My college roommates and I briefly co-owned a cat, Maverick, who went home with my friend Sarah after senior year. Many a late night living in New York City, I longed for a kitty companion. When Patrick mentioned that he was thinking about getting a pet, either a small dog or a cat, I heavily campaigned for the latter (I love dogs too, but isn't a cat just easier in NYC? You might be surprised...). My ex toyed with me, saying he'd get me a cat if I did this, or he'd get me a cat if I did that. Finally, I agreed to paint him four cats. (In the aftermath, at my request, he gave me this framed painting back... but not the flesh-and-furball that is Tijs. I wish.)


Meanwhile, adoption plans had to wait, because Patrick and I were taking a month-long trip to Europe and Turkey first! I quit my job to accompany my recent business school graduate boyfriend on a cross-cultural journey which ended in heartbreak: The night before flying from Prague to Istanbul, Patrick learned that his father had suddenly passed away from a heart attack. We packed our bags and flew for 24 hours, at least 4 connecting flights, to get to the funeral in Florida. We had been dating less than 5 months, so the only time I ever saw his father was in that open casket. I spent a week getting to know Patrick's extended family and helping him grieve.

Upon returning to New York, Patrick was quite depressed. I suggested we go to the ASPCA and pick out a cat to help cheer him up. Being the cat expert I am, I knew the qualities to look for when choosing a kitten or young cat as a pet. Friendly, playful, a licker...it came down to two cats, a girl and a boy. Ultimately, Patrick chose the boy, whose cage was posted with a sign that read, "Pick of the litter." We were smitten.




The next day, we went back to formally adopt him. When the agent pushed the papers our way, Patrick snatched them away and signed, just himself. I wanted to sign them too, but he ignored my pleas, and I let it go thinking, "I'm going to marry him one day. It will be fine." Stupid? Sure, but at the time, I was twenty-five and really believed we would be together always and live happily ever after... with our cat. I let him pay the $60 adoption fee, since he uncharacteristically ignored the wallet I pulled out as well. The cat was a gift for me, I rationalized. Wrong.


This is the day that we found you!

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When we brought our sixth month old home, I was in charge of naming him. Linus was a thought...but then I offered, "How about T.J.?" It was a joke between us that all the men in Patrick's family were either named "Tommy" or "Joey." T.J. didn't seem quite right, but I did a little research... Patrick's favorite DJ was Tiesto, whose real name was "Tijs" (that's Dutch for "Matthew," basically). We had a winner, even if others would have problems pronouncing it down the line. (FYI: NBC anchor Matt Lauer's son is also named Tijs, but that was years later.)

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Unfortunately, we only had Tijs a week before he started showing symptoms of illness. Our little man was not eating or drinking and became increasingly lethargic. The first visit to the vet informed us he had a typical upper respiratory infection. After a few days on meds, he was only getting worse... we brought him to the vet hospital where he was diagnosed with Feline Panleukopenia. This disease is very similar to distemper or Pardo in dogs, i.e., it involves a critical loss of white blood cells which makes the animal extremely vulnerable to other diseases as well.




As the vet bills mounted into the the thousands, Patrick tried to nickel-and-dime every procedure, every medication, every day of care with the doctors. After a week of visiting our dying kitten each evening in isolation at the hospital, a vet assigned to the case finally told us very frankly that we either had to commit to paying any amount of money possible to try to save the cat (with no guarantee of survival) or pay another $500 to have him put to sleep (the "humane" thing to do). We were caught between a rock and a hard place. We had already connected with this animal. When we came to visit, I would look into his eyes and cry my own eyes out. Even in his weakened state, he would try to stand up, try to meow at us. I am very serious when I say that I knew this cat was special, and I could not let him go without a fight. However, I also knew the anguish Patrick had already been through only weeks ago over his Dad. It felt impossibly unfair to now put him through this. As we deliberated over what to do (Patrick almost agreed to have him put down, but I wouldn't have it), a vet came in and relieved us: The special care vet at the hospital had grown attached to Tijs, and she offered to take over his medical bills if we signed away our rights to him. Losing custody of him wasn't the best option, but it felt like a small miracle at the time.

And what a miracle it was: Two and a half weeks (and a near break-up) later, we got the call that Tijs was alive and well. After six (or was it eight?) blood transfusions and a quote from the doctor, "Tijs was as sick as an animal could possibly be -- he's literally been to hell and back" -- our little champ was alive and slowly but surely made a swift, spirited recovery. He was a weakling when he finally came home, but had the loudest, strongest purr ever that day. (Aside: The $3,000+ in vet bills were passed back to us at that point. My ex did some shady dealings and to this day, I am unsure whether these bills were ever fully paid for... I suspect not. To be fair, Patrick was a good parent otherwise, paying for future vet check-up bills. To be fairer, I paid for a few along the way too.)




Weeks, months, years (nearly two) passed along, and Tijs grew up to be pretty much the coolest cat ever. I used to say he was like a dog, but he was even cooler than most dogs. Super affectionate, Tijs would lick me for like 10 minutes straight when I got home, holding my face between his paws. Patrick taught him (and encouraged me to help train, which I did) numerous doggy tricks, like sit, fetch, roll-over, etc. He liked to pull out these "party tricks" for friends, and liked to think these things made Tijs an even more valuable commodity/companion, but personally, they were mere side notes of coolness in my book. The best things about Tijs are his genuine affection, playfulness and human-meets-cat instincts.




As things began to deteriorate in my relationship with Patrick, I often thought about how hard it would be to break up because of Tijs. I didn't trust him to just give me the cat without some sort of condition attached, but I did truly believe that when all was said and done, Patrick would not take this pet away from me entirely. He often said that he knew Tijs loved me more (I won't dispute that!), and he also joked that I'd never leave him because of our cat. In the final analysis, I knew our relationship was unhealthy and damaging to my self-esteem (I really hate talking/writing about such a personal issue, but it seems I must on this occasion). I could no longer subject myself to my ex's manipulations and various sociopathic behaviors. The day I broke up with him, I sat holding Tijs, crying my eyes out again on the behalf of this furry creature I'd cherished above all other pets. Patrick sat there watching us, silently crying too. I'm not quite sure why, honestly...




During the months -- actually a year and a half to be exact -- that followed, Patrick and I attempted a hesitant friendship that pretty much revolved around Tijs. We had a shaky co-custody that consisted of traveling the mile-plus between our apartments and caring for Tijs separately about every 2 weeks or so. While Patrick's apartment was his original home base, Tijs became quite accustomed and happy in my apartment which had more nooks and crannies and sunny windows than Patrick's place. As a freelance writer, I was also home more often than Patrick, so Tijs and I spent much quality time together.





At this point, Patrick had already begun talking about moving out of the country - South America, India - but I didn't take him entirely seriously. I secretly practiced a motto of "Kill 'em with kindness" and tried my hardest to appeal to Patrick's sensitive side. One evening, I invited him and his sister to a concert in Central Park. There, Patrick told me that he intended to move to Argentina within the next year, and when he did, he said he would give Tijs to me. I remember his exact words: "I know how much it would hurt me to be away from Tijs, and I couldn't put you through that." I was touched, thanked him from the bottom of my heart and even discussed this with his sister, shocked by his apparent selflessness. A few months later, we were out for brunch with a mutual friend. When he announced he was moving out of the country once more, our friend asked what we'd do with Tijs? Patrick hesitated, looked me in the eye, and declared, "I'm bringing him with me." Of course I flew off the handle. Hadn't he just told me a few weeks earlier that he'd give him to me? At first he lied and denied the conversation. Finally he acquiesced, admitting that when he discovered there are no animal quarantine laws in Argentina, he no longer planned on giving the cat to me for good.

I didn't speak to him in a friendly way for months. We continued to share custody, but I was massively distrustful. However, I could not bare the thought of Tijs being gone for good. So, I returned to my initial plan of befriending the enemy, hoping that some sliver of kindness or fortunate opportunity would place my cat back in my lap once and for all. Alas, this was not to be.




About six months ago, Patrick and I got into our last fight. The details why are unimportant, as they relate to reasons why we broke up in the first place, but I knew at that moment that he and I could never have a true friendship. We each wanted something from the other...I wanted my cat back, and he wanted to continue to have that control and influence over my life. As long as he had Tijs, he'd always have me and he knew it, and took advantage of it. I couldn't stand the situation any longer. So I told him to keep Tijs, to go fuck himself, and to begone from my life forever.


That almost happened. There were a few more instances of nasty email exchanges, one run-in while jogging and another at a concert. We were pleasant to each other, but I did my best to remain distant. It was too emotionally taxing to re-involve myself in that catastrophe (pun intended). I even decided to adopt a new cat. Haruka aka Ruki is the little sister I imagine Tijs never had. Call me crazy, but I have daydreams of these two meeting and playing and generally adoring each other. I love her, but she didn't replace him in my heart. In fact, I had a nightmare recently that he had taken Ruki and wouldn't give her back either. Even my subconscious is deeply unsettled, no meows about it.




Just before Patrick moved to India (to travel for a year or so, then he plans to move to South America...don't ask), I sent him and his sister, who he had appointed Tijs's guardian, a note letting them both know how much I still wanted Tijs. I thought maybe, just maybe, his sister didn't know that I was willing to take over ownership of Tijs. She and I had been close; she was a cat-owner too. No matter; no reply. Patrick wrote me back and said he'd let me care for Tijs during the time he was away, however long that may be, but he'd certainly come back for him. I knew I couldn't bare to deal with losing Tijs AGAIN, so I backed down. Besides, there were too many variables involved: Would Tijs and Ruki get along? Would Patrick pay me for my catsitter status? Should I just go along with it and then catnap Tijs in his absence? And if I did, would I ever truly be rid of Patrick? At the end of the day, and with much advice from friends and family, I reluctantly withdrew from my adored animal once more.

Patrick's off gallivanting across India and Asia now, and Tijs lives with his sister and her cat. I'm grateful he has a home, and his "cat cousin" there, but I am ever-distraught by the reality of my situation. She no longer speaks to me, but we are still "friends" on Facebook and other social networking sites. Every now and again, she'll post photos of my cat playing with her friends. I don't know how to explain the bitter sadness and even jealousy I feel looking at those pictures. He's usually perched on someone's shoulders, and I think about what fun they must be having with him, and that's great and all, but at who's expense? They may try to forget me, but I truly believe that cat never will...




I even saw one of Patrick's oldest and best friends at a party recently, who apologized for what he knew I'd been through regarding Tijs. He told me tried to talk Patrick into giving me the cat, but clearly to no avail. I appreciated the thought, even if it failed to count.

I just want my Tijs, back in my lap, happily purring where he belongs. Because I was too kind (or too weak?) to take Tijs from him/them, I am the one who will forever feel catnapped. This was my one and only dance with martyrdom, kitties, and it was a doozie. May I never deal with a real divorce, with "real" kids. That -- and never get a pet with anyone you're not married to (even then, I'm not convinced anymore!) -- are my hardknock lessons earned and learned. Hisssss.

My last video of Tijs: