1) Sandwiches, aka: General Tso, was adopted in 2012. We don’t know how old she was at the time since she was previously a street cat and by the time Jene adopted Sandwiches, the cat had already given birth to two litters of kittens. Jene initially took the cat home to deal with a rodent problem. She was not a cat person yet, having grown up with dogs, but she really liked her Brooklyn apartment in spite of its rodent problem, and could not live without some type of pro-active solution. Sandwiches provided. She was a strong mouser with a typically feline instinct for sadism (ie: she liked to play with her food). In her final weeks, Sandwiches remained true to her character and caught a mouse in our Flatbush apartment. And when I say “caught”, I mean that she got it in her mouth and was trotting around with her prey from one room to the next. This is especially remarkable since we had to put Sandwiches down months after we discovered that she had a tumor growing on her lower right jaw. It’s a fairly common cancer, we were told. Eventually it impeded our poor Sandwiches’ ability to eat, drink, and groom herself. Her mouth grew disfigured because of the tumor and towards the end; we also noticed that one of her front teeth was coming loose. We likely waited longer than we should have to put our beloved Sandwiches down. It was still nice to see her catch one last mouse. You don’t have to say “fuck cancer” on our behalf—the cat already has.

2) Sandwiches did not trust anyone easily. Growing up on the streets likely contributed to her unease and frequent mistrust of strangers, especially men. She might have bitten you if you petted her too long, even if you were rubbing one of her favorite spots (under her chin, between her shoulder blades, across her forehead atennae, and over the small of her back). Too much stimulation was definitely one factor, but her sense of trust was another. It took months for Sandwiches to stop swiping at me, even though I’ve fed her a few times a day and usually seven days a week for the last two and a half years or so. I played with her (though probably not enough), gave her lots of lap time and pettins’, scooped her poop, and let her say “Hello” to everybody I talked with on the phone or Zoom. Sandwiches eventually let enough of her guard down to sometimes lie down nearby in a half-croissant pose (belly up) to show that she trusted us (and me in particular). I also slow-blinked at her, which helped, and so did varying the different spots where I scratched her (not too long under the chin, now the attennae, now the shoulders, the chin, the other side of the neck, etc.). She still liked to fight at the end, though it was sometimes hard to understand why. As I mentioned, drinking water became difficult for her and she would take out her frustration on the various bowls, glasses, and other containers we left for her around the house. At first we thought this was business as usual since, as Jene pointed out, the cat used to bat at glasses and cups of water when she was a kitten. Later I saw that she was trying to eat by scooping at the canned food we gave her and breaking it apart on the floor. It was only around her last week when I realized that she was trying to do something similar with her water dishes, but couldn’t figure out how to drink since her lower jaw and tongue were both so badly displaced by the tumor. Jene tried to reassure me that the cat didn’t need that much water, not as long as she was eating her wet food. Sandwiches still lost weight, thanks partly to the antibiotics and pain-killers and shots that she was getting in her final months. I also couldn’t help her to drink despite many frustrated attempts. I was worried that she was rebelling against us one last time. But she did show that she trusted us in other ways. She couldn’t groom herself very well, for example, but she did let me use both cat-friendly wet wipes and dry shampoo to clean her a few times. The shampoo must have felt good on her tangled fur, though it also exposed how much of the fur between her front paws had come off after she frustratedly scratched at it. Thankfully, when I used the dry shampoo on Sandwiches, she stuck out her chin with anticipation a few times, as if to show me that she not only knew what I was doing, but was also looking forward to being cleaned. I wish that I could have done more for her.

3) Sandwiches used to frequently insert herself between Jene and me when we first started dating. She would squirm between us and frequently straddle both of our laps, as if trying to ensure that she always got attention from both of us. Make room for Jesus? No, leave room for Sandwiches. Eventually I learned that I could not have bare legs while sitting on the couch, not without a couch cushion or a heavy blanket over my lap, too. Otherwise, Sandwiches’ claws would inevitably dig into my thighs, which made lap time somewhat difficult to enjoy. Sometimes I wasn’t in the mood to cover up for Sandwiches and would say as much to her: “No!” Sandwiches understood what “No!” meant, but did not really care. She was the quintessential cat in that and a few other senses. Occasionally she would make room for herself on the couch, pressing against my stomach whenever I was lying on my side. I’ll miss feeling her warm, furry torso press against mine, squirming to adjust her weight until she felt completely secure (it never happened). I’ll also miss seeing her drop into her living room litter box and stink up the joint with a heinous-smelling rage-shit, one way that she let Jene and I know that we were simply not paying enough attention to her.

4) It wasn’t hard to take the cat to the vet for her bi-weekly steroid and antibiotic shots. Those shots eventually became less effective, even if they did regularly restore her apetite and energy back to semi-normal levels. It also wasn’t difficult to make the phone calls for all the doctors’ appointments, and both call in and pick up refills for her medication, and buy her extra food, and put her medication in that food, and make sure that she was eating her medicated food even when she lost her apetite and only wanted to hide. What was hard about taking care of Sandwiches, after she got sick, was thinking about where we are right now. Keeping my hands full was both a coping and an avoidant strategy in the sense that helping to keep things going stopped me from thinking too much about a future without the cat, just as long as I could honestly tell myself: “We’re doing what we can.” I suspect it will be some time until I can rest assured that we really did do what we could for the cat. My friends and loved ones have said as much to me, and honestly, I hear them, something a 20-something me could not truthfully say. But the sheer unfair-ness of it all…why does such an innocent animal have to die in such a horrible way? I lost a childhood cat after a cyst on her side burst. I held her as she weakly begged for help throughout her final vet visit, dripping wet and absolutely terrified. This, too, is sadly par for the course. A friend said to me: “It’s always so heartbreaking to say goodbye to those who do nothing except to give love and be loved.” And before that, my late grandmother, who lost her husband and daughter years before she passed at the age of 99, named an exhibition of her paintings after one of her most impressive later works: “Grief is the price you pay for love.” Where we’re at right now is sadly also routine, but we still have to take it a day at a time for as long as we can.

5) The house already feels empty without Sandwiches. She left us yesterday morning, but we’re already seeing her everywhere. Sandwiches had such a strong presence and entered every room without hesitation or concern for who or what she might find inside. Every night she woke me up by noisily making biscuits at the foot of the bed at 1:30am, 2am, 3am, 4am, and 5am, depending on the day. She would also briefly interrupt my yoga exercises just to see what I was doing and maybe give my forehead a lick. Where is the insistent meowing that used to greet us right when we came home, demanding attention and also a late afternoon meal while we’re at it? Who will come into the bathroom and inspect the tub and mill around below the sink while we do our business? Who will gnaw on our plastic bags until we shoo her away? Where is our loved one hiding? Under the TV stand? In the dining room by the bar cart? Under the coat rack or maybe inside the bedroom closet? Where are you, Sandwiches? How can we bear to pick up your things and throw out the trash and get on with our lives, as if you weren’t right over there, just around the corner?

6) I’ve cried every day for the past few weeks and can’t see that changing any time soon. I’m moving to Flatbush to join Jene before my lease is up at the end of November; that project will surely keep my hands full for a little while. Jene and I are also already thinking about when and how we might adopt another cat or cats, if Jene’s allergies can take more than one. We don’t want to rush into an adoption though, even if we do feel like there’s something missing from our home without a little cat wandering around, ruining our peace and demanding our love like a mini kaiju on a tear. Sandwiches could never really be replaced, not after all the happy times we’ve shared and all the love that she gave and took from us. We have so many memories of her to keep us smiling even as we process this enormous loss. It’s also quite a solace to hear from you, our friends and loved ones, as we try to take care of the final vet bills. We’ve already met our initial Gofundme goal of $2,415 and are now trying to raise the money for Sandwiches’s last trip to the vet, as well as a visit from a very humane and gentle at-home euthanasia specialist. So our final goal will be $3,500. Please help us out, if you can. And if you can’t donate, please feel free to share and repost however you feel comfortable. We really appreciate all the kindness and support we’ve received so far, especially the compassionate well wishes that we’ve gotten in response to old photos of Sandwiches. She was the heart of our home and we are struggling to imagine a world without her. But we’re doing what we can, even if that never feels like it’s good enough. Thank you for all of your support and for reminding us that there is a world beyond our grief. I wish you all could have met her. She was such a good cat.

7) Jene named Sandwiches, aka: General Tso, after two of her favorite foods. Jene also once suggested that I should own a cat, too, and it should be a ginger cat named “Rhubarb.” Probably because Jene knows that I love rhubarb pie. (she has reassured me that it’s not because I resemble a ginger cat) I love marmalade cats, too, and the idea of naming a little ginger cat “Rhubarb” makes me smile. I’ll remember that for later.