the story of Goat, the cat:

tw: animal death, elegy

I met Goat a few months after I lost my cat Henry in my early twenties. Orange Henry came into my life when he was already an old man. I intentionally wanted to give a senior cat a place to live out their golden years and that came with so much love, but also a lot of pain. He died from cancer too soon into our time together. I thought I would be prepared for the end, but it took a lot from me.

Carrie and I used to walk into the union square Petco on our lunch break to get away from our desks and look at the creatures  (when it was still on the corner of Broadway & 17th and not renovated into a fancier commotion across the park).

Goat (then going by “Robert Fulton, Jr. Esq.) got our attention with his law degree, a meow that more resembled a goat’s bleat, and a purr described by his info card as “loud and most likely steam-powered.” He was scrungly, with a black coat and peppered very randomly with white strands. Some of his left ear was missing and he screamed at us until we gave him an an offering of finger pets through the bars. He was found on a hot day outside a bank, demanding to be let in to the air conditioned lobby. He was too nice to be feral, they didn’t know how he came to live on the streets. They guessed he was 2 years old. Carrie said I had to take him home.

I was still reeling from losing Henry, but I was also living in a solo basement studio in Queens, and I was lonely. After Henry passed, I wrote down that the human relationship with pets was absurd and selfish. And yet we put ourselves through it over and over again. It’s a connection that is so innate and delicate. It’s beautiful and devastating.

So I took Goat in as a foster. I told myself it would be a kind use of all the feline supplies I still had set up and he could spend some time outside of the depressing Petco cage before moving onwards and upwards to his forever home. The day I brought him home, John came over for penne alla vodka and to dive deep on a breakup story. Goat fit right in and didn’t hesitate to speak his mind on the matter.

It took about one week for me to apply to adopt him. He was my soulmate. He made me laugh every single day of the years that I knew him.

I hit some very low points in the time that followed. When my instincts led me to isolation, Goat gave me a reason to get out of bed in the morning and to come home at night. Goat reminded me how to love the small joys of this life, marveling at the activity of birds through the window, basking in the warmth of the sun, and tasting snowflakes from the patio. When my brain turned to dark ideas, Goat needing me around was always the first thing to bring me back.

Goater made an impression on everyone he met and made many friends along the way. He’s had a long list of roommates from Craigslist pomeranians to Danny, and eventually his stepdad Dan. He entertained many guests in our home (mostly his regulars, The Emmas and Biss).

But I seem to attract boys who are not long for this world because soon Goat would be diagnosed with chronic kidney disease (CKD) in 2021.

I did everything his vet told me to do. On the outside of his body, he was happy and healthy. After the initial shock, I clung to the thought that we had plenty of years left with him and the condition managed for the meantime. We went for regular check ups, changed his diet, and tried everything to curb the disease. He stayed himself through it all.

Up until he had a big health scare last month regarding a urinary blockage.  Even while the emergency vet clinic was poking and prodding him in the middle of the night, he was still purring and demanding their affections. After 3 days at the hospital, he was stable.

When I came to bring him home, I felt like a celebrity. Every single staff member on duty came to say goodbye and tell me how they loved him and how he oversaw their work with directional meows through the overnights. But the cost to save him was steep. As nervous as I was  to ask for help, I posted a “Goat Fund Me” to try and fundraise some of the bills. I was absolutely overwhelmed with how many people helped us and shared their stories of meeting Goat the cat. I will never ever forget this kindness.

He was healing great, his CKD was under control, and he was back to his routine and usual cheery, loving self. I was hopeful we were in the clear for a while.

Then Sunday morning on Jan 14th, we found ourselves back at the emergency vet after he had been acting withdrawn and having scary symptoms the day before. They told us it was a minor infection unrelated to all the other trauma. We were sent home with antibiotics and told to come back in a week.

For most of that day he slept with me on the couch. Even in his e-collar (the Goat snow cone) he would not cease rubbing his head on me. Dan and I helped him eat and got him comfortable for his recovery. I went to sleep that night, exhausted, broke, but grateful for this life that the three of us were sharing.

That same night at about 3am, Goat woke me up in a panic, trying to free himself from his cone while hiding under our bed, a place he almost never stayed long. He did not look right and I began to panic that the medicine was having an adverse reaction.

I pulled him out and held him on the couch, starting to call the vet. For a few minutes he was purring and regaining himself and my anxiety began to subside. He looked me in the eyes and blinked.

What happened next was sudden and awful. He fell to the ground, completely still. We rushed to the animal hospital but I knew in my heart that he was already gone. Even so, the team there did everything they could for us and tried to bring him back. Monday morning, at the age of 8 1/2, Goat was gone.

At first, I was angry. I didn’t understand how they could send us home that day and have this be the outcome just a few hours later.  The vet told me that on top of everything, they discovered in the aftermath that he had a very insidious underlying heart condition that is hard to detect until it’s too late. Even if they had revived him, he wouldn’t have much time left. After everything, I am grateful to them for their empathy and tireless efforts to help Goat.

I am trying so hard not to obsess over the details of the end, but I still have so many questions. If I acted faster, would he still be here? How could this be the end of his life after everything we did? I've been dwelling in the injustice of it, how empty the house feels, running through how we would have spent his last day if we knew to prepare. I have retraced every decision, every dollar I didn’t have that I threw at the situation over the last decade, trying to find where I went wrong with both of my boys.

But I force myself to come back to that slow blink we shared in the last hours of his life. Goat left this earth on his own timeline. We didn’t have to watch him deteriorate slowly. The pain was brief. He died at my side and I didn't have to make that horrible decision like I did with Henry. How lucky I am to have known that love and peace, even for just a short chapter of my life.

Suffering and horrors beyond my comprehension are inflicted en masse on occupants of the world occurring every second of every day, whether you bear witness to it or not. And still, my shattered heart is pouring out words about a single, one-eared cat named Goat. I feel his absence in every corner of the house. I feel like a part of myself died with him. It is so hard to see the point of any of this.

I wrote that our relationship to pets is absurd. Mine certainly is. Domestication bends the planet to validate our own existence. And despite all that existential dread, it’s a feeling that gives me hope for people. That this sadness is a connection to a bigger unity, feeling community with brains we cannot fully understand. We all belong to this earth as we’ve inherited it, whether we want to or can ever find reason in it or a way to undo structures of harm and destruction. It's finding fulfillment in care and a simple life in harmony together, and letting that be enough to carry on. And with that comes the burden of feeling pain wholly. Not turning away from yours or theirs.

Goat is not the first four-legged friend that I’ve lost and I do not think he will be the last. He is one of the greatest loves of my life. I can only honor him by trying to see the good in people like he did, and in turn, revel in the reciprocation of love.

If you took the time to read all this, thank you for listening.

love,

lex

jan, 2024