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Jet "Shadow Hunter" Stewart
The first time I saw his picture on the ASPCA website, along
with the description that he had CRF, I was drawn to him.
My immediate impression was that he was doing his best not
to let a hard life get the best of him. I knew he had
CRF and that our time together would be limited and of
unpredictable length.
What I did not know was how overwhelmingly his nature was
centered around giving, and receiving, love. He soon
made this clear, training me to give him my hand whenever I
returned to the apartment after an absence of more than half
an hour. His third day with me, I forgot to fill up
his kibbles bowl. I got home, sure he would have torn
the apartment to shreds (justifiably so): he must have been
starving, I'd been gone for 12 hours and he'd had only
water. As soon as I stepped into the apartment he
began to complain vociferously. He continued to meow
at me in annoyance as I apologized profusely and made haste
to fill his bowl then put it down on the floor. He
continued to moan at me though, and would not eat - not
until I had given him my hand so he could lick it all over.
Only once he had take his fill there, did he stroll over to
his food bowl and eat. I never forgot again, and I
never failed to immediately kneel and extend my hand if he
was waiting by the door when I came in thereafter: his
training program was most effective.
He did not seem to be bothered by the unimaginative name he
had been given: Jet. Instead, he honored me by quickly
showing me his true cat name - Skadu Jagter. This is
afrikaans, and means Shadow Hunter. I would shine a
lamp at head or chest height, point it at the floor, and
then use my hand to make shadows. Even though he knew
I was behind it, he loved chasing those shadows.
Those were not the only kind of shadows he could chase
though. One morning, I wrote something that
essentially eviscerated me emotionally and mentally.
In a daze, I wandered into the bedroom, crawled underneath
the covers, pulled them over my head, and went to pieces.
I don't know how long I had been there when he burrowed
under the covers, got in my face, and began to lick the
tears away from my eyes. He had never done anything
like it before, and he never did anything like it again, but
in that instant he broke the hold that pain had on me by
interrupting it with his presence and his love.
There are so many things I could say, and none of them will
ever cover who he was, so I only have this to say: I miss my
friend, and I hope that he is waiting for me when I walk
through my door, even as I vowed to see him to his.
I wrote this the morning of the day he died:
His fur
falling down now
etched in charcoal
the color of the shade
he soon will chase
leaving behind
anticipated sounds
that precede a love
never returning
to this silence
unbroken
unbound
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