It is December 30th. Today should not be a sad day, nor a difficult one.
For one thing, today Liam and Morgan turn 13 months old. For that reason alone, it should be a day for much celebration. Add to this great fact that Christmas Eve with the twins was a wonderful thing. We all had a great time, a wonderful meal, and tremendous company at Mormor's (Grandmother's, for those of you who haven't enjoyed the Dane experience), with a shower of love and gifts for the babies. Not to mention, we're embarking on a brand new year in our new home - the one for which we'd been anxiously anticipating for over a year.
But today is a horrible day for Janne and I. If the twins were older than 13 months, it would be a horrible day for them, as well. I'm glad they're not old enough to understand.
Jag was 4 years old when I first met him, but Janne brought him home when he was 6 weeks old, and she loved him every moment ever since. When Janne and I met, we had both been through bad marriages. She was only moments away from ending hers. The only reason I mention this is because one of the things that shaped Jag's personality while he lived under the same roof as Janne's ex was that the poor cat was terrorized, and became very scared of anyone - except Janne.
Janne loves animals, and Jag was at the top of that list. Because of his previous experience with males, when I met him, he kept his distance from me for a long time.
It was close to a year after Janne and I had moved in together that he finally adopted me. It remains one of the more rewarding experiences of my life. To get to know this lovely animal's soul, to work at becoming friends, and to gain his trust - meant a great deal to me, and still does.
JAG ALWAYS PREFERRED TO TAKE MY SPOT ON THE COUCH...
There are many who say that animals don't have souls. I would suggest to you that those people have never taken in a cat or dog of their own.
Jag played a lot with Janne and I in the years before The Tinks. He was a very playful little guy. Since we had been trying for a number of years to have children, Jag was - for the longest time - our little 'boy', and we showered him with all the love we could. Although Jag was playful with us, as soon as there was a knock on the door, or a strange voice in the house (unless it was Mormor, who also showered him with affection when given the chance), he'd run and hide until the coast was clear. He was ours and ours alone. He shared his affections with no one else. He was like a secret friend we had all to ourselves, and we felt priveleged for it.
About two and a half years ago, Jag became ill. We had no idea what was wrong, and took him to the vet many times before finally uncovering diabetes. There were many trying times with him for the last two and a half years, and within the last few months he was receiving two insulin shots a day, losing his beautiful fur, developing sores which wouldn't heal, almost too weak to climb up and down the stairs, and becoming despondent.
This morning, I was downstairs in our basement on the computer searching for an address of a place we had planned to visit later in the day - until I saw Jag. He had a very strange 'meow', one I hadn't heard before. He seemed scared and confused, and - what was most disturbing - he was staggering, and couldn't gain his balance. I called Janne to come downstairs immediately, and as she did, he was trying to hide from us behind some folded boxes from our recent move. If you know anything about cats, you probably know that they are both very proud and very independent, and I was sure Jag wanted neither of us to see him in his current condition. He just wanted it to be over.
I had to stay home with the twins, while Janne took Jag to the vet in our new hometown of Brantford this morning - the same vet we were planning on making our 'new' vet for Jag, now that we had moved here.
I need to tell you here that there isn't a person in the world who could have done more for Jag than Janne did. She went above and beyond, and kept him going when he could no longer keep himself going. Our diabetes/specialist vet (who works out of Montreal) emailed Janne once saying that she wished all pet owners were like Janne. Of course, to us, Jag wasn't a pet. He was family.
Today, however, a million dollars wouldn't have brought him back. All it could have done was prolong his pain, and we didn't want him to suffer. I just wish I could have been there with my wife to comfort her, and to look him in the eyes, and personally say goodbye to our sweet boy.
After Janne called me with the news, I wailed. Uncontrollably. In my life, I don't remember ever doing that before. Morgan turned to me, and reached out her hands - as mine were covering my face. I picked her up, and she put her little arms around me, comforting me. Janne and I are both convinced Morgan's first audible word would have been "Jag", because she delighted in him every time she saw him, and identified him with her best effort at his name. It sounded like "Dack!", and was quickly followed by an ear to ear grin and a little finger pointing straight at him.
THIS WAS JAG JUST AFTER JANNE RETURNED FROM HER ALMOST-SIX-WEEK STAY IN HOSPITAL AFTER HAVING THE TWINS - HIS WAY OF SAYING SHE WAS TO NEVER GO AWAY AGAIN WITHOUT HIM.
Jag turned 12 years old on December 11th.
He brought us so much joy, so much love, and brought us closer together.
We miss you, Jag, and we'll never forget you.
Rest your weary head on the lap of an angel.
