Jet was always special...I adopted him at the age of only 6 weeks old (just being weaned) when I adopted him from the Humane Society. I went there not with the intention to adopt a kitten for myself, but for my roommate (this is back in 2007) because she was at work during most of the "open" hours of the humane society - she'd already done all the paperwork and paid and such, she just needed me to pick up this kitten and take her home. At the time (before their remodel) they had a "Kitten Room" where one could just go into a room full of kittens (best anti-depressant one can imagine, no?) and I immediately noted this little black fuzzball, all ears and golden amber eyes. I've always had a weakness for black cats (I've - sort-of had 2 in the past that were more "family" cats at their times in my life and I'd never truly had one of my OWN that I fully took care of. I couldn't resist. I also knew black and tux cats were usually the last picked at shelters because of internal superstition a lot of people don't even realize they have (you know, "black cat crossing your path is bad luck" etc) and having been somewhat of an outcast myself for a good portion of my life they were always my first choices. I was living in my first apartment as an adult while working full time (at the same place as above room mate, plus a third & her fiancé that all of us (the "girls" worked at the same Starbucks.

This is the point where I make a point that, at that time, I was legally and physically "female" having not transitioned to male physically yet (though had begun - outside of family - to go by the name "Lane" (a shortened version of my legal middle name (Elaine) that I thought was androgynous enough that I could theoretically "pass" (as the term is used in the community) as male or at least non-binary (which wasn't a "thing" in 2007 but "androgynous appearance" was). My friends knew (and obviously my roommates) that I had been born female, and was beginning to socially transition to male (or at least experiment and decide if it was something I was sure I wanted to do). I started testosterone in 06/2007, right around the time I got Jet so that's another reason why he's got a special place in my heart.

Anyway. I took both kittens home and kept them in my room in a kind of "pen" so I could keep them from getting stuck/lost anywhere in our not-huge 3 bedroom apartment, litter-box training them, getting them used to kitten food (as opposed to milk though I did supplement with the "Cat Sip" milk initially), etc. Jet seemed to "claim" me from the beginning whereas my roommate's cat (I was training them 2 kittens together since it was just easier that way) seemed ambivalent (any human would do). Both were taught (over the next few weeks) to accept pets on any part of their body (Jet particularly loved tummy "massages" and loved to sit on one shoulder...as he grew up he still did the shoulder thing; he'd wrap himself across both shoulders as he turned out to have a very *LONG* body (my mom nicknamed him "Slinky.") Both were taught not to bite or scratch when they got over-excited (as only kittens have the energy to do) - when they bit (rarely hard, and never drew blood) I would pinch their jaw shut - to the point that they could still breathe through their noses of course - for a few seconds and say "NO *insert cat name*!" then let go. The other cat was, of course, watching and picking up on it too. if they scratched on PURPOSE (even if playing) I would lightly hold the paw that had done the swipe in one fist and pull it out to extension - again, saying "NO!" loudly. So they both grew up to be well-trained.

When he was about 5 months old, he suddenly became VERY sick, and when I took him to the vet they drew blood and it turned out he had FeLV (Feline Leukemia) and I was told by the vet that he wouldn't last to his 1st birthday. I had NO idea how he had "caught" it (despite it being very easy to spread) because his paperwork from the humane society had him marked as negative, and we of course had Gypsy tested and she was negative so we got her vaccinated asap.

Jet recovered though. He became my miracle kitty. He didn't get sick again (other than the usual slight colds and such cats get) throughout the years (and living with many different cats - some more carefully vaccinated than others so clearly he wasn't shedding the virus. No one EVER caught FeLV from him (and he lived with at least 5 or 6 cats for a year or more at a time as my roommates and housing changed).

When my roommate's kitten (Gypsy I believe her name was) and mine had grown to about...1 or so (Jet totally killing his vet's prognosis of not making it to age 1), my roommate with her - now cat, not kitten - moved out so it became a 1 cat household. Jet loved (to the week he died) spots of sunlight because his black fur just absorbed all the heat from the sun. As he had grown older, oddly some fur changed colour (if it had appeared like this as a kitten his name would likely have been "Pixel" instead of "Jet" because he had 2 white toes on his back left paw, a few white chest hairs, and one white whisker on the left side that was twice as thick of its grey counterparts so it really reflected light and made it pretty obvious.

I adopted a 2nd cat (a 2.5yo rolly-poly tuxedo I renamed Sammie from his original name of Andres (as my step-mom's name is "Andree" - a little too close in my opinion) in 2019 (just before COVID shut everything down I guess) - he had come from a HUGE shelter transfer (I found this out much later by finding an article about it in the paper (accidentally!) on google at least a year later) of about 600 animals from Hawaii to Seattle. No wonder he is such a wuss about the cold. My therapist had pushed me (and I admit I wasn't too hard to convince - what cat lover doesn't want a second cat?!) to get a second somewhat younger cat (though I didn't have the energy for a kitten again having become disabled myself in my mid-20's and finally got SSI and moved into low-income housing in 2017) as I had always (sorry to be so depressing; but I was/am depressed! Yay major depressive disorder!) kind of associated Jet's dying with MY dying...I wasn't sure I could live without him. So yes, my therapist's brilliant idea was for me to get a 2nd cat that I'd get attached to and be unable to (either for my love of the 2nd cat or whatever) commit suicide when Jet eventually died (he was still perfectly healthy when this all went down I should add other than the FeLV diagnosis). Damn her eyes if she wasn't right.

He developed some GI problems at about age 13 or so...just randomly vomiting and he was put on a tiny dose (2.5mg) of prednisolone and it seemed to calm his nausea. He remained on that med to his last week. Then when he was 14, it became more serious and it was clear the virus was active again - he had severe GI issues (very common with FeLV)...essentially stuff from *both* ends, rather uncontrolled. I had my floors COVERED in "wee" pads (potty training pads for puppies usually) that made cleaning up a bit easier. At first, he just had 3 "spots" that he'd hit up for diarrhea other than the litter boxes (about half to 2/3 of the time) so I kept XL "wee pads" in those spots (which I then had to tape down the corners because Sammie had an annoying habit of attempting to "bury" anything (as if my linoleum was a litter box) that smelled funny to him, or like, food he was done with. So he'd end up folding up the edges of the wee pads and Jet would go on the floor where the pad HAD been if I wasn't quick enough at changing them out. Here, my community REALLY came out to help - I left posts on NextDoor and Buy Nothing for my area begging people for spare puppy training pads they didn't need anymore (as their puppies had been trained and they were no longer needed) and received a TON which was really helpful as I was (am) very low income and wee pads are freaking EXPENSIVE! I even received people's pads (like, for human incontinence that you would put on a chair or bed) which worked well enough for my needs. The humane society was amazing through this time too. They brought over donated food (a lot of it prescription - level for GI/Digestive upsets - read: EXPENSIVE), more wee pads, and paid part or all of 2 vet bills I couldn't manage. About a week before he died, he was in pretty good shape (just goes to show how fast cats can crash) and I had bought a harness and leash and went out with him on my lap (I use a wheelchair) and he would occasionally jump down and smell some of the plants and such (and no doubt dog urine haha), then jump back up onto my lap and off we went. We went around the block and he really seemed to enjoy it. Of course, I had bought these in hopes of doing this regularly with him but I was only able to take this single trip with him sadly. The next day he spent the night (12 hrs) at a local emergency vet hospital getting fluids (I had tried sub-q, which he vet prescribed and I paid the exorbitant fee for (at least they were lactated ringers instead of just normal saline so more electrolytes) and my caregiver/friend came over and set the whole thing up (I hadn't realized it was essentially an "IV" drip except instead of going into a vein it goes just below the skin at around the shoulder area in the side, kinda creating a fluid "pocket" which is then absorbed. he perked up a bit but it was clear it wasn't enough. The emergency vet had quoted me $1200 for fluids per 12 hours (they bill in 12 hour chunks) and I was practically (ok no, not practically, I WAS) sobbing because I knew I didn't have that kind of money - I already had a local low-income-person assistance agency for my zip code helping me with rent (they paid 3 months of rent! Which isn't a lot to some people ("only" $188/month - I live in low-income housing - but keep in mind I "only" get $841 a month (and last year prior to the cost of living adjustment (COLA) in January it was $781 with the same rent charge!) so $188 a month adds up really fast! I was / am so grateful). But I had emptied my bank account on meds for Jet at that point, and as you know, $1200 is more than I get in a MONTH in income, much less something I could pay the next morning. Somehow, word of this (despite it being like 7pm) reached some of their financial people and by 7 am the next day when I was expecting the dreaded call(s): (either Jet had passed in the night, he needed more time (which he probably did) on fluids, or I owed even MORE money than I thought) but no, I got a call saying "you know...he's perked up a bit....ate a little friskies...he can probably go home now though you're going to want to look into euthanasia options. Soon. Oh by the way, we were able to majorly discount the rates and various items we charge for, and totally strike out other charges so you actually only owe us $300 (or something like that)." I was shocked. I mean, I didn't have $300 either, but to go from $1200 to $300...well that's obviously a huge jump. And this place had gotten only "so-so" ratings on Yelp! I sang my praises for them haha. This time, the Humane Society took up the tab for $250 of it, and they gave me a month (as opposed to "pay at time of service" pretty much EVERYONE requires - including them; they made a special exception for me) to pay it. As it was the middle of the month that meant I would get an SSI deposit within that 30 day time so I would be able to pay the remaining balance. Thank. Goodness. For kind people in times of need. It's been a long time for me because I've been so jaded on how poor-er people are treated, on top of chronic illness (and requiring around the clock opioids on my part which means for most people - my doctors is awesome and trusts me not to do illegal drugs lol - demeaning random urinalysis (UA) to make sure they're taking what they're prescribed, pill counts at appointments (another thing I've never had to do), etc. People act like you're a heroin addict in the ER EVEN WHEN YOU'RE NOT THERE FOR PAIN RELATED REASONS (unless like, an obviously sprained ankle or broken bone or something) - I've just found a lot/most people automatically assume the worst about the other while barely knowing them. Anyway. I may not be a believer in "the almighty" or whatever of any religion but my faith in humanity, while I wouldn't go so far as to say it's been "restored" because I never had one to begin with but I know now there are some good people and sometimes it just takes asking. What's the worst they can do (well, in certain situations haha)? Say no, right?

That day he really crashed; I had him on a heating pad and he could barely move; just utterly miserable. I had to kind of guess what each "meow" meant (twice I got it right in meaning he needed to pee - I had to hold him upright in the litter box because he couldn't keep his footing on the sandy-texture of the clumping litter. Sometimes it was that he needed to be turned on his other side because one side was getting too toasty for his liking. I'm sure a few of his meows were for "what the heck is going on?? Fix me, human!"

Anyway, after a full night of that (I had him next to me in bed on a very well padded heating pad and flipping him on each side about every 15 minutes - yes, I stayed up all night - Jet was brought to his normal vet on 04/09/22 and euthanized while wrapped up in a blanket, in my arms at around 1pm. We (or rather - I paid for the euthanasia meds/IV ($150 - which I still object to...paying so much for the absolute WORST moments of my life (well, worst MONTH rather) then another $400 (my mom paid) for cremation and return of the ashes. He was cremated with (or at least, was supposed to be) 2 little 1' x 1' knitted blankets he had claimed as *his* maaany years ago and I couldn't bare to bring them home and see them without him sitting on one. I arranged his body in a "tail-to-nose" circle he usually curled up in...then left the room with mom. Then I had to start making calls/texts to tell everyone involved that he had died. God, it's been over a month and I still can't think or type or say the word "euthanized" without sobbing (which I am now doing - I don't think I've cried so much in my total adult life as I have in the past 2 months (it's 05/18/22 today). On my next SSI payment (I'm running into more financial issues this month - how does this keep happening?!) next month I'm buying a pendant urn on etsy (it's worn on a necklace) that has a laser etching of a pic of his face, with his name on it, on the front. The left side will say "DOB: 04/24/07" (yes, he died 2 weeks before his 15th bday), the right his DOD (except instead of saying DOD it'll say "RIP 04/09/22" then the back will say "My Bubby-Boy Forever" with a pawprint below it (it was a nickname I have no clue when / why it developed but I always called him "Bubby Boy" or "Jetter Boy").

He was so friendly to EVERYONE (whereas Sammie is terrified of everyone but me and hides when someone knocks on the door much less (god forbid) comes inside) and came running to the front door every time I came in - if he didn't immediately arrive all I had to do was call "Bubby bubby boy! Jetter Boy!" And he'd run from whatever patch of sun had enthralled him for the afternoon (or whenever). He also had a box full of old packing paper (you know that you wrap dishes and stuff in when you move) crumpled up - that was another favourite place. I haven't been able to get rid of the paper and box yet, though I ought to. He always slept at the head of my bed, with his belly smooshed against the top of my head. Sammie right next to my face (I sleep on my right side).

Freaking therapists. If I didn't have Sammie so dependent on me (he's now 5) because he's so afraid of EVERYONE else and I couldn't bare to bring him back to the shelter as if he was unwanted or something, so I'd be able to commit suicide. Nope. Can't do it. Though I do intent to have Sammie outlive me this time because I can't do this a second time. Well technically third, as my first black cat (Houdini, the escape artist) that I got when I was 15 (maybe 16?) who was initially mine (when I was a teen) but became a sort of "family cat" as I had to move around a bunch in my early adult years but he died *also* at age 14 (I swear, the number is cursed for me) on the end of mom's bed on HIS favourite blanket, which he was cremated with as well. We still have his ashes at a table at the end of mom's hall in front of a painting I'd commissioned of him for my mom to have, and next to another pic and cremains of HER old cat, Gracie, (who disliked most people other than my mom (though she tolerated me because I was quiet and didn't try to pick her up)).

Anyway. It feels like "ashes" are all I have of my life right now, other than Sammie, in some ways. Memories, photos, yes...but ashes nonetheless. I still struggle with an eating disorder (anorexia) and have for over 20 years (I'm 34) and it's sort of my "definitely unhealthy" coping mechanism I'm working hard to get out of. Sammie though. This cat. He is the DEFINITION of "Emotional Support Animal" (which is how I was able to keep him in the first place in this building where pets aren't really allowed...yet like 75% of the building - 59 residents - has a cat or dog at least). The management mostly looks the other way unless they become a nuisance. But Sammie always comes running the second I wake up in the AM (if he's not already there to begin with) and starts my days with purrs, "biscuit-making" (kneading his - rather sharp - claws into me to pronounce his joy at another day) and "boops" (that's how he got HIS nickname ("Boop Boy," Sammie-Boop," or just "Boop" because whenever he feels he's not getting enough attention he kind of runs his head into your nearest appendage (and if I'm in bed that's usually my face - so he gets a kiss on the top of his head every time that happens) aka "booping" me! haha. He seems to have a sense of when I'm struggling mentally - he comes running when I start crying (no matter how silently - he's currently in my lap), if I have a nightmare he's always there when I wake up (though lately my nightmares haven't been of PTSD origin...they're more "I can't find Jet, he's missing, I have to find him now or something terrible will happen." And then I wake up and while Sammie is very good at calming me down...the truth still has to be faced. Jet isn't there. He really is gone.

Thank you, to the Queen Anne Animal Clinic for this donation in Jet's name/honour, I wish I could add to it, but I guess my novel about my cats and pic(s?) will have to suffice for now.