Goodbye and thank you

We weren’t meant to have a cat. We had a dog. The dog loved the fireplace with the tartan quilt laid in front and one day as I walked past the dog by the fireplace I saw a little ball of orange fluff. He’d been dragged inside by the dog, who had for some unknown reason decided to adopt him.

My husband wasn’t my husband then, 16 years ago. He said “no more pets”. But Otis the dog had decided, so we had a kitten. They followed each other everywhere and the kitten became a cat who truly thought he was a dog.

We moved to an apartment in Auckland. Too broke to flat on our own we lived with my dad. Every time he came home the cat would leap out and latch onto his leg or worse (he had very sharp claws) and my dad would yell “that fucking cat!”

But still, when the little bundle finally fell asleep it would often be on my father’s shoulder (or on my feet, or my husband’s lap).

We went to Tauranga most weekends to escape the tiny apartment. As we drove down the driveway to the place we called “The Farm” though it was nothing like a farm…the cat, eventually named Borro, would leap out the window of the car. He would return Sunday, climbing back in to sit behind the neck of whoever was driving.

He was an apartment cat Monday to Friday. Friday to Sunday he ran free.

Then we moved again. We lived all over the place, and Borro and Otis came with us. I’d walk Otis, and Borro would trot along beside him.

Then the babies came. By then Otis and Borro were quite old, half way through their lives by then, and they were not happy.

Borro was always mostly wild and without the constraints of an apartment he came and went as he pleased.

When Otis died he was heartbroken and he stopped coming inside for a while. He would circle the spot where he used to sleep next to his dog. Now empty he seemed perpetually confused.

Maybe he was lonely without his dog.

He developed more of an interest in Eddie.

When Eddie got sick, Borro became even more attached. Each time Eddie went to hospital he seemed to know. He stood guard outside his room when he returned. Followed him around, always checking.

Then after Eddie’s very long stay in hospital - he became a different cat. He slept next to Eddie every night. He sat on his lap while he did his homework. Sat on his feet while he ate his breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Tried to walk to school a few times…

We marvelled that after all this time, Eddie had turned our wild cat into something else entirely. Borro had chosen his person. And his person was Eddie.

Our wild cat put up with tea parties and being put in a pram (though he always looked furious). As Eddie got older the tea parties became concerts (he scowled but tolerated the noise).

He was Eddie’s friend - no matter what.

For a long time. A very long time in the life of a child.

And then we noticed Borro slowing down.

He stopped coming inside to sleep with Eddie. Started going to the neighbour’s house.

We wonder now if he was trying to make it easier. Trying to prepare him.

We took him to the vet.

The vet called at 5pm this evening. It was kidney failure. It was time.

We told Eddie as gently as we could and we went to the vet for one last goodbye.

Borro was never one for much affection. You felt truly blessed if he decided to give you his time. But tonight, in the little room at the vet he came to each of us. One at a time, he pressed his cheek to ours. First to me, then to my husband. Then to the neighbours who had come along to say goodbye too. And finally he stopped at Eddie. He pressed his nose against Eddie’s - they held the moment together. He lay his head on Eddie’s shoulder and we watched our little boy begin to sob. Borro pressed his head against Eddie’s chest. Then he put his chin on his paws and let Eddie bury his tears in his fur.

We told Eddie that he didn’t need to stay for the next part. We said “Mama will do this bit alone”. But he said “No, please, let me stay”.

So we did.

And he held Borro.

And as our little ginger cat began to fall asleep Eddie said:

“Thank you for being my friend”.

He cried as Borro died in his arms.

How could we ever hope for more in life than for the last words we hear to be so true?

A little ginger ball, born eight years before a little boy, never knowing how much they would mean to each other. Never knowing how much it would all mean in the end. What a beautiful end to a beautiful little life.

Thank you Borro. Rest easy buddy. Thank you for 16 happy years. Thank you for loving our boy. We are going to miss you so much.

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