My cat, Joe Montana Jonathan went to sleep last night and didn't wake up. I've been afraid of this day for a good five years now. Outdoor cats like Joe average about 8 years of life. Joe was 15, which I believe in Human Years is about 88. A few days ago, Joe had some trouble breathing so my parents took him to the veterinary emergency room in St. Charles. After some tests, they determined that he had feline congestive heart failure, and it was pretty much only a matter of time before it gave out. We went for a 2nd opinion on Tuesday, and it was determined that with some medication, Joe would be good for at least a few more months. He seemed better, happier than he had been in weeks. My parents took him home, and Bri and I went over to DJ's to watch American Idol that night. Joe played with me, sat with me, and attempted to steal my dinner. As I left that night, Joe walked out the front door with me as he had done so many times before. He sat on the porch, watched me get in my car and drive away. It was the last time I saw him.
It seemed ages ago when I first got Joe, and right from the beginning I knew that he was a bit "off". Most cats have a tendency to be somewhat aloof, not really caring if you were alive or dead just as long as the food dish was filled. Joe was different. When I first held him, he scrambled out of my arms and up onto my shoulders. He then just stood there, proclaiming to everyone that "this one is mine." Nothing would prove that wrong, as I would do anything for him. And he knew it. He ran the house. If he wanted to go outside and you were watching tv, he would walk up to whatever furniture you were sitting on, look you right in the eye, and start scratching the shit out of it. You would yell "goddamnit Joe!" and jump up. The instant your ass left the seat, he would turn around and run to the back door and look at you as if saying "this would have been alot easier if you would have just let me out in the first place". He used to drive my dad nuts. DJ would be sitting there watching the weather channel and Joe would begin his "I want out" routine. It then became a test of wills. DJ didn't want him to win, and Joe would NOT lose. So DJ would try to ignore him, and Joe would just keep on scratching. This would go on for minutes at a time. And EVERY time, DJ lost. There was just no winning...looking at the furniture is proof of that.
Just going back, thinking about Joe brings a smile to my face. I remember when everybody started coming over to watch Monday Night Raw. Dain used to smoke during the commercials, and Joe would go out with him. Kind of a "smoking buddy". Dain would get up, and say "Time for a smoke, Joe." And Joe (no matter what he was doing) would hop up and follow Dain-O to the porch. After burning one, they both would head back inside to watch the next match. Or when Roper came over, and didn't pay enough attention to him. Later on that night, Roper's coat smelled distinctly of cat urine. Joe also hated arguing. There was this one time when my dad and I were yelling at each other about something. We were in his office shouting, when Joe jumped up on the desk between us and began yowling as loud as he could. When that didn't work, he turned to the person nearest to him (me, of course) and swiped a 4-inch gash in my arm. Both my dad and I turned and looked at him, then burst out laughing. How could you be angry at him for that?
And speaking of being angry, nobody could hold a grudge like Joe. Whoever drew the short straw for taking him to the vet paid for it weeks afterword. Dirty looks and cold shoulders were on the menu for you. Oddly enough, I got it the worst. Or the time we went on vacation for two weeks and left Joe with Trevor. Joe put up with it for a week, then apparently decided "fuck this, I'm out". He took off and disappeared for the remaining week. When we got back, we all felt horrible for leaving him like that. Two days later we got a call from a family about a block up the road. Joe had apparently been sitting on their porch, waiting for someone to show. When they did, he walked in their house and got fed. Then we got the phone call, and a look from him that said: "that'll teach you."
There really isn't enough space for all the Joe stories out there. Sitting here, I can barely see the screen through my tears, but I'm smiling the whole time remembering. Dave Matthews said something after Leroi Moore died, and it stuck with me ever since.
"It's easier to leave then be left behind"
Nothing could be truer. My life is a little more empty, a little less fun now that Joe is gone. I loved him so much, and was loved in return. He demanded your love, but somehow made it wonderful to give it to him. I will miss him forever. I love you, Joe.
