Ernie

I’ve been thinking about my good friend Ernie. I got Ernie – with his Sesame Street Ernie food dish - from the local animal shelter in the late 1990s when he was a large-for-his-age 10-month old cat (the shelter thought he was between 2 and 3 years old). No sooner was he home than a full blown feline upper respiratory infection erupted. Ernie’s eyes ran. He sneezed. He wheezed. He was so congested that he drooled. He could only keep small amounts of food down. For three weeks, including Saturday and Sunday, the vet opened his office at 7:30 am so that Ernie could have his lungs listened to and his eyes looked at, and get an antibiotic shot and a vitamin.

Ernie survived that inauspicious beginning. After many years as an indoor-outdoor cat he was an apartment cat for about three years, and learned to walk with a leash as he led me on 10pm strolls around Bloomfield, NJ several evenings a week. When a job required me to live north of Philadelphia during the week, I took lodgings at a pet-friendly place. Ernie and I drove down on Sunday evening and back home Friday afternoon. He traveled on vacation trips between New Jersey and Vermont without complaint.

 The years have been pretty good to Ernie. He’s had his run-ins with other cats and some unknown creatures, but with no lasting ill effects. He’s gotten himself in places he’d rather not be. 

He’d rather sleep than anything else but he goes outdoors almost every day– although only for a few minutes in this cold weather. In the summer, when I’m in the garden, he’s nearby, sometimes passing through, sometimes supervising, sometimes enjoying the sun on the stone path. Still, by any vet’s estimation, Ernie is an Old Cat.

Most people love their cats and dogs and other animals but when those creatures start to age or become infirm “he’s just a cat”. We know we have a responsibility to provide good care and minimize suffering. But if we get emotional, people say “Yes, it’s sad, but he’s just a cat.” No, he’s not. That cat or dog or bird or horse or gerbil has been part of the family, and when that life ends, there’s a death in the family.

I’ve given attention and care and love to Ernie. I know his needs, his many wants, and his foibles. (The caption for the photo is "I don't want to get out of your chair.") I believe he’s returned my love and care with often entertaining companionship and certainly good company. He's just as much my family as my sons and daughters-in-law. When his life comes to a close I will cry a lot and spend a good deal of time mourning my loss, and I hope no one attempts to deny me that.