“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.” – Anatole France

“I’m awake.” – Jeff Brown

Daughter: Are you my pookie wookie? Are you my kitty witty? I wuv you kitty.

Father: (Overcome with nausea.) Oh good grief, Jessica, will you put that kitten down and stop the baby talk?

Daughter: I love my kitty. (Holds fuzz ball up to her cheek.) He loves me too.

Father: We’ve only had the cat for an hour. It doesn’t even have a name yet.

Daughter: Yes he does. I named him “Waterfall.”

Father: Did he pee on the carpet?

Daughter: No, of course not.

Father: Then why did you name him Waterfall?

Daughter: I think it’s a beautiful name. (Jessi cradled the cat in her arms and nuzzled it with her nose.)

Waterfall definitely was Jessica’s cat, and I’m sure he knew it. Nobody call me a “cat person.” I’m not a dog person. I’m not a fish person. I’m not a hamster, snake, weasel, or hairless rat guy either. When it comes down to the cold hard truth, I have to admit that I’m not very crazy about animals, especially when it comes to them living in my house. I believe humans first created the “indoors” so they wouldn’t have to be exposed to the dangerous creatures (and their poo) that live outside.

My first inkling that the cat might be (how shall I put this?) difficult to live with happened when I got home from work one evening. Scattered on the kitchen floor were little black pieces of rubber. I didn’t know where they came from until I cleaned the supper dishes. It seemed my 12-year-old’s new kitten had ripped the garbage disposal rubber out of the sink.

For the next eight years it was just the three of us living in the same little house. Even though Waterfall had a tendency to get on my nerves, (he’d wake me up every night with a hearty “MEEOWWWRRR,” although he was “fixed,” he sprayed the carpet regularly, and the coffee table seemed to be his favorite place to throw up) he kind of grew on me. For instance, I enjoyed taking him outside in the evening during the summer months. I’d drink a beer. He’d eat some grass. This is how we spent quality “guy time” together.

Waterfall was still Jessi’s cat, though. He followed her around, slept on her bed, and chewed on her Barbie doll’s head. Things went along pretty well until last spring when I was going to do some laundry. I was shocked to find Waterfall sitting inside the washing machine. “What are you doing in there?” I asked as I picked him up. Then I noticed he lost some weight, so I took him to the veterinarian.

Doctor: I have some bad news. His blood work shows that his kidneys and liver are failing.

Jeff: What’s wrong with him?

Doctor: His symptoms are consistent with a virus cats can get at his age.

Jeff: Is there anything we can do?

Doctor: The virus, I’m afraid, is untreatable.

Jessica and I did treat him, though. We showered him with attention and, since he seemed to feel more secure in the washing machine, we put out a smorgasbord of food on top of the clothes dryer. Our laundry area was transformed into a four star restaurant for our sick kitty. The menu included his regular food, two kinds of soft cat food, and tuna. All in all, I think I spent more money on cat food than I did on people food. To our amazement, Waterfall rallied and got better.

Months went by. When Jessica and her fiance rented a house last summer, Waterfall went with her. I admit that I missed him, (I swore for weeks that I could hear the bell that he wore on his collar) but Waterfall was happier than ever living with Jessica. That’s where he belonged.

Shortly before Thanksgiving, Jessica mentioned Waterfall was hanging out in her washing machine. That’s not good, I thought. We took him back to the vet and got more bad news. His kidneys were indeed failing. Determined to nurse him back to health again, we re-opened the restaurant/laundry room at Jessica’s house. This time, however, Waterfall didn’t rally. Days and then weeks went by without him eating until he was just skin and bones. It got so bad that we were afraid he’d break when we picked him up.

One gray, blustery, December morning I showed up at Jessica’s house. My daughter and I took a few pictures of our nine-year-old kitty and drove him to the vet. Euthanizing Waterfall was one of the hardest decisions we’d ever made. Over the years, Waterfall cost me a lot of money and a lot of sleep. He tested my patience almost daily with his eccentric antics, but I loved that cat, and I told him so as I watched the light go out in his eyes.

Yeah, Waterfall was difficult to live with, but I miss him every day. Goodbye old friend.