Twenty-Two Years
For 22 years Amos was the first to greet me when I entered his building, head bumping my hand as soon as I opened the door, meowing hello in anticipation of my attention in the form of head scratches and hugs.
For 22 years. But not today. Amos was not in his usual spot, meowing, waiting for his head scratches and hugs. I searched his building and found him lifeless, curled into a ball.
My mind fumbled to understand what I was seeing, making no sense of any of it. Yes, he was 22 years old, but he was healthy — last night he was eating his canned food like a champ.
I met Amos when he was just a wee kitten and I was at a dog pound to rescue a dog there on death row. I noticed 8 small cages crammed full of cats, all of them screaming, begging — their legs pushed through the cage’s bars, their paws reaching out to me.
At first, I tried to look away but before I could, I saw a mother cat with 3 tiny babies. My eyes met mom’s and the sadness and terror I saw almost made me vomit. I asked about the cats and was told they were there because the local cat rescue was full and there was no place for them to be housed. “If they’re not out of here today they will be put down. We need the cages for dogs”, the pound employee told me.
Put down? My mind struggled to understand it. Surely, I misheard. No, I hadn’t. I went home that day with 1 dog and 12 cats. One of those kittens was Amos who ended up outliving all the other cats he was rescued with.
He became my buddy, my constant companion in good weather as I did farm chores — chatting with me all along the way. He’s just always been there, head bumping, brushing against me, getting as close to me as possible — trying to breathe the same air as me. For 22 years he’d been there. Always there. Until today.
Tomorrow I will open the door to his building and my mind will still see Amos and my heart will feel his presence and my hand will still feel his head bump. As I have for 22 years.
Jackie Deems copyright 2022
