I’m starting to write this mere hours after we said goodbye to Walter. He passed very suddenly early in the morning on February 2nd, 2026, but at least he was with Von and me, and was at home; he didn’t leave this world somewhere scary and foreign, and he was surrounded by his people. To say he will be sorely missed feels like a massive understatement.

As you might expect, we’re all pretty distraught. Walter was old, of course—he would turn 19 this year—and I knew that this day would come eventually. Already I have regrets that come with hindsight. I didn’t take any pictures of him on the 1st, his last day on this earth. In the moment, of course, that’s understandable. It was a normal Sunday. We hung out at home because it was too cold to spend time outside. We ate dinner. We put the lad to bed. Walter sat with us on the couch while we watched TV. It was all very normal until it wasn’t, and now he’s gone, and now that corner of the couch is going to be empty.

I wish I had more time with him. Not just in a general sense, but to prepare for his passing. To come to terms with it. I knew it was going to happen one day, but I kind of assumed it would be a situation where he had something wrong, we went to the vet, it was Bad News, and made plans for his last day. We’d get to spend some time eating his favorite foods, doing normal things and cherishing the time. It being so sudden feels like we were robbed of the chance to give him his final pampering. To say goodbye.

I adopted Walter back in 2008. He was a year old, and being raised at the MSPCA Angell facility down in Jamaica Plains. He was a somewhat shy, wobbly fellow, but he took to me pretty quickly in the office where he and his brother Gumball were being kept at the time. In the shelter, his name was Glorious, which, while accurate, didn’t feel like the name he needed. I ended up naming him Walter, after the Specials’ logo Walt Jabsco; he first came out of hiding in his new home to the sounds of “A Message to You, Rudy.”

Since bringing him home that day, I have been so lucky to have him as a companion. He has been loving and patient, with attitude to spare and a healthy dose of sass. He lived alongside numerous other cats over the years, and while not always being the most dominant roommate, always seemed to get his way.

From the day I met him, he was a wobbly guy. His back legs and hips were weak, and he would move a little side to side when walking, a sort of crab walk thing. His first vet, at Porter Square Vet, noted he wasn’t in pain, he was just a little weak back there. Despite that, he managed to have the strength to come running for meal times, be a surprisingly adept mouse hunter (and in one instance on our second floor apartment balcony, catch a bird¹), and to hold his own with the wild weasel energy of Nami when she came into our lives. In fact, having a kitten in the house seemed to give him a renewed vigor, chasing her up and down the stairs of our new house like a cat half his age.

He went through moves—including a very, very long car trip from Boston to Baltimore where my brother Pat says he was not a happy camper and sang songs of his struggle—a kitten, a marriage, and the addition of a very excitable baby into the house. A baby who quickly learned to love him, saying “hi Woo” to him in the morning, which became “hi Waltoo” and finally, recently, “hi Walter.” Walter was a patient big brother, tolerating being booped on the nose, crawled upon, pet every which way. And Walter showed his love back, in his own stoic way; he did not have to choose to be around a rambunctious little human, but did so every day of our boy’s life.

If you were at our wedding, you know what a presence he was there; between the cake made in his likeness at the rehearsal dinner, the stamps on our invitations being custom Walter stamps, to the giant poster of him welcoming guests to the event, Walter was part of our big day even if he couldn’t be there physically.

It kills me that I’m not going to hear his noisy snore anymore, or his big thumping as he trotted up and down the stairs. I won’t feel him slowly taking over the entire bed at night, a remarkable feat for a cat who was not especially long or large. Or that our son, who is only just over two, will never really have any memories with Walter. He’ll see the evidence of this cat who lived all over this house, who left his mark so deeply on our family, but won’t remember him for himself. He got to say “bye Waltoo” yesterday at the vet, but he didn’t understand, and that breaks my heart.

The reality of having pets is that loss is inevitable. It’s something you sign up for when bringing these animals into your life and your heart. Which is all well and good to say and write, but it doesn’t dull the pain one tiny bit. It sucks, and it’s not going to stop sucking any time soon. But no matter how much it hurts, I have nearly two decades of happy memories with a sweet, amazing creature who gave me companionship and love. It’s worth every bit of heartache. Thank you for everything, my glorious old man. I loved you as much as someone can, and I think you felt the same right back.

Rest in Power, Walter. May angels lead you in.

Walter “Walt Jabsco” Flynn
2008 - 2026