Lazarus

We called him Lazarus R. Cat. We thought he spoke with a British accent. When Kevin rediscovered his love of baseball, and connected to his favorite team, the Baltimore Orioles, I joked that Laz was a Yankees fan.

He was regal and ridiculous.

I was told that he was a Persian Ragdoll and invented stories about that too. His long hair could elegantly disguise sand? (I know nothing about Persia.) We thought he deserved a pampered life with scented water and peeled grapes. I think he agreed.

He was born when I was 14, but we adopted him when I was 15. He wasn't quite a year, but he did stay with his mother longer than most cats. All of that time to nurse may have given him a foundation for the health and longevity he enjoyed.

His mother's family called him, "Co-Pilot," because he would perch on driver's shoulders in the car. We quickly ruined him on cars because we only drove him to vet check-ups. When he was 16 he got an ear infection. We had to drive him to the vet for his follow-up visit. He HOWLED. Afterwards, we found vets who offered home visits. That was his last trip in the car.

When I was 18, I went to college in Massachussetts. I got to see Laz on visits, but increasingly sporadically. I missed that cat. I lived the transitory life of someone in that age range-- various dorms, apartments, but never with permission to keep an animal.

When I was 21, I moved in with Kevin to shared house in Pennsauken, NJ. They had several rescue dogs and a big back yard. When I was 23 we got a message from my Mom: too many family members had cat allergies. She asked us if we wanted Laz to come live with us.

Kevin drove out to get Laz. As he parked the car, a big, white, fluffy cat ran from the pines and into Kevin's arms. He carried him to the door. When my Mom arrived she said, "Laz has been roaming for a few days! I wasn't sure we'd be able to find him!"

He found us.

We gradually transitioned him to living at our home. We had a big, beautiful, black rescue dog named Misa. We were clear with Misa not to corner Laz. She was so kind and gentle and gave him a wide berth while he acclimated. Laz took full advantage and found advantageous positions of height-- like a table or bookshelf, so he could swat at her knowing she wouldn't retaliate.

They loved each other. I would find them curled like Yin Yang symbols.

Laz loved dogs (some, not too rowdy) but hated other cats. It was like he resented that anyone would try to approximate him. He and our housemate's cat battled endlessly. Laz *tolerated* kittens we rescued when we found them and their mother, who passed in the woods by our house. Laz would bristle and back up, but he didn't mess with them.

He played his whole life. He had relay races in the upstairs hallway. My hoodie strings were always enemy combatants. Freshly washed locks of hair should be attacked too. He maintained his independence and spent a lot of time outdoors. He liked to hunt too, which often cut down on our responsibilities to him.

I know this sounds crazy, but he was funny. Not like, silly cat doing things I interpret as funny, like he knew what he was doing. Knew he was funny and was funny. Like, dry wit. 

When he was about 14, he roamed for two weeks. We were so nervous we coated the neighborhood with flyers. One night, I heard him. I ran down to his cat door and found him! I grabbed him and took him to Kevin. I remember that night laying beside him and praying, "I promise to never take him for granted. Thank you so much for bringing him back." I never did. I was so happy to come home to him and watch him run down the steps to say hello. Kevin and I always said he was the best part of coming home. On summer nights, we pulled up in front of the house to find him wandering the front yard. We would lie on the grass and watch the stars with him.

He had two health issues. Two. Once, he got some type of fever. We didn't know if he drank contaminated water or just had a virus. The vet treated him and he recovered.

The second time he had an ear infection that was treated with antibiotics. He had a proclivity to get ear mites, so Kevin and I became proficient at cleaning his ears. Which he absolutely hated.

Apart from that he was strong and solid. We would shave him in the summer so he could feel cool in our house without AC. He seemed to resent the process but enjoy the feeling once it was over. His coat always came back, thick and full, by late August. 

He was a huge and integral part of our life. In the early morning, he snuggled next to us and ran to the kitchen as we blearily woke. When we came home, he ran to the door to greet us. Our nightly routine was always Kevin and I fighting over who got to take him with us to bed. He laid between us until we fell asleep, and then he got up to do his rounds. We called him our "chaperone."

When we worked in the garden, he came with us. When I hung laundry on the line, he played by my ankles. If I weeded, he rolled around in the lavender and smelled delicious. He's our every day, domestic life. He made us giggle and want to be home. When I was sick, he laid with me to binge watch Netflix. When he saw us pull out suitcases for a trip, he turned his back and gave us the cold shoulder. He was communicative, smart, and hilarious. He was my best friend.

I'm so grateful to have grown up with him. He knew me since I was a teenager. Taking care of him made me a warmer person. Today I heard a quote from Rainer Maria Rilke, "The great secret of death, and perhaps its deepest connection with us, is this: that, in taking from us a being we have loved and venerated, death does not wound us without, at the same time, lifting us toward a more perfect understanding of this being and ourselves." I'm thankful for him. I'm thankful that I've always known what a gift he is.