My beloved cat, Jem died unexpectedly in my home at the end of November. This is Part One of a three-part series honoring him.
Last Saturday, I knew the mail had been delivered because I heard the hissing of my cat, Jem. I was upstairs, but I pictured him beneath the front-door mail slot, peering up, waiting for the mail to fall through to the floor, clearly invading his domain. (Note his scratch marks on the right door casement in the above photo.)
Three nights earlier, I had heard him padding upstairs on his way to jump under the bed covers with me. The day before that, I had heard the thud he always made when he jumped off the bed after hearing me walk through the front door.
Jem died suddenly on November 20 at the top of my stairs. According to a Google AI overview, “Hearing animals after they have died is a phenomenon often reported by people who have lost beloved pets [and is] often attributed to grief-related hallucinations or a heightened emotional state during bereavement where the mind can perceive sounds that aren’t physically present.”
I hear Jem. He is at hand. Perhaps he is in the bardo, the Tibetan word for the state of existence between birth and death. Unlike my other cats — Flannery, Isaac and Scout — Jem was omnipresent. I was home most of the day during the last several years of his life. Did we imprint each other?
I have been a maelstrom of emotions since he died. Two hours before I discovered his body, he had been purring and sleeping in his bed next to my writing desk.
Of course I have regrets. Did I feed him too much? He was somewhat overweight. Did he have a heart attack? Was he trying to tell me something with his incessant before-dawn meowing that always went away when I fed him? Why wasn’t I there so he didn’t have to die alone?
As unsettling as it has been to hear Jem in my home, his sounds remind me to attempt to rectify my biggest regret: not having the chance to let him know how grateful I am to have been his Person. So when I hear a hiss, I say aloud, “Thank you, Jem!” A thud, “Thank you, Jem!” A meow, “Thank you, Jem! You are such a good boy! Such a very good boy!”
TOMORROW: Part Two, “Blessing Jem”
My last post was published nearly three months ago on November 19, 2024, the day before I discovered Jem dead. Prior to that, I had been slowly crawling out of a depressive episode abyss fueled significantly by the results of the election and had been determined to use this blog for an awakened writing spirit and post at least twice a week.
The medical appointment that took me out of my home on the morning of November 20 was to see my orthopedist who confirmed that I needed RIGHT knee replacement surgery (scheduled for March 13). So I was already feeling dispirited when I saw Jem on the top of my stairs. Unmoored by the sight of his body, I fell on the stairs in an unnatural way, twisting my back and neck and landing hard on my right arm. My arm hurt immediately, but adrenaline and grief obfuscated my back and neck pain which I really didn’t feel for a couple of weeks. However, during that time I lifted and lugged around heavy stuff that I really shouldn’t have; went to the Fitness Center, etc., and the pain became paralyzing. By the middle of December I was using a cane to get around my house and was unable to drive. Adrienne believes that grief contributed to the length of my back pain recovery.
This past Sunday and on Monday, I was able to walk in farmland for the first time using my trekking poles. I am going to the Fitness Center in about an hour. So I am slowly landing on my feet, but I am still sad as I move about and sit in all the empty spaces in my home.
Of course you are bereft. Your heart and the heart of Jem were blended. To be alive is to come to an end. You are left to bear witness and to grieve. You are doing everything correctly. This is how it is on planet earth. By the way–just a possibility is that Jem waited to be alone before he transitioned. He could not bear to transition with you in the house.
And I would not have been able to bear witnessing Jem’s transition. Still, I wish I could have said, “thank you.”
You may not want to hear this, but I know that in your actions you said “thank you” to Jem every single day. And, by those actions Jem knew you loved him greatly. It certainly doesn’t change the hurt one tiny bit!
I believe you are right that Jem didn’t want Sharon to see him go, as unfair as it is. He knew it would break her heart, & his own.
I can attest Jem was a good boy, Sharon’s constant companion, and mighty protector of the mail slot.
Bless you, Sharon. This is beautiful! I cannot really imagine how difficult putting this together may have been for you. I am sorry, for the absence of your constant companion, & for your grief in this cold, seemingly unforgiving winter. I have also heard those types of sounds in my own home. They are at once comforting & sad to me. For me, they are human, above all, & better than absence.
I have known for a long time that you are a book writer. This piece shows that. Your photos go so very well with the words you have written. It is beautiful & tells me how Jem loved you, as well as how you loved Jem. He will never leave your side.
Thank you for this. I have missed your writing & your daily sunrise pictures.
Such generous, heartfelt comments, particularly this last one, Laura. You have always been so encouraging of my writing and my photography. You are a blessing!
A beautiful piece and a beautiful tribute to your beloved Jem and to the unusually loving warmth you two experienced together. Something about the depth of the relationship you two had will no doubt continue to make his physical absence painful, but hopefully at the same time will leave Jem’s paw prints of sweetness in your days.
❤️🙏❤️🙏❤️🙏❤️🙏
I feel the depth of your loss acutely, especially following the death of our beloved 16-1/2 year old dog, Diesel, on Dec. 21. The grief sneaks up on me, as I’m sure it does on you. Wishing you peace.
Beth — I know you feel the depth of my loss acutely. Adrienne and I were so sad to hear of Diesel’s death so close to Christmas. We had spent enough time to know how present and sweet Diesel was.
C.S. Lewis believed that we would all be reunited with our furry friends once we left this sweet world. I don’t know if that is true, but I do like to imagine sweet Diesel and Huck running around as best pals and Jem hissing from the sidelines.