Jack "Fluffy Man" Kelly 6/23/22-7/27/23

On Thursday, 7/27, Jack passed away. Words cannot express the depths of our sorrow. The previous night we were trimming his matted fur and nicked him. It wasn’t a serious wound, but we took him in to get it looked at and maybe a couple of stitches to make sure it didn’t get infected out of an abundance of caution due to his weakened state. He was too spicy for them to do anything without sedation (he was the sweetest boy at home, but never liked being at the hospital). We let them know that he suffered from feline dysautonomia, and they went with a very conservative method of sedation because of that. In spite of this caution, he had a severe reaction and passed. They were able to get a heartbeat via CPR, and after an hour or so to get him breathing on his own, but after several hours it became apparent that he was never going to recover. Towards the end, he seemed like he was aware of our presence, and it gave him comfort.

From the time he came down with feline dysautonomia, he fought incredibly hard to stay with us. The weeks that we had with him after his hospitalization and near death were spent loving him and cherishing the time we had together. And even after literal death, he fought so hard to stay with us and give us just a few more moments with him. We choose to believe that means he knew he was loved, and that he loved his life with us.

There is a simplicity and pureness in the love that we can share with an animal. Jack was my baby, and my closest friend. He was always there for me, and helped me through some of the hardest struggles I have ever had to face. He let me experience being a mother for the first time in my life, in a way uncomplicated by social constraints and judgments. He brought me inexpressible joy. He was my baby.

When he was a kitten and he was relaxed and at his happiest, he would make tiny little suckling motions and gently flex his paws. At the end, when they were administering the euthanasia, I held his little face and told him that I love him, that I was there with him, and that I wasn’t going anywhere, and that he was a such good kitty, and such a good friend.  As I held him and spoke to him, he lifted his head up and started suckling gently. We think he was happy. His death was peaceful and without suffering, and he was surrounded by people who love him.

Jack could always tell when I was sad or hurting, and would come and hang out with me until I felt better, whether that meant sitting at my feet, or trying to help me work by attacking the mouse cursor on my screen (I don’t think he fully understood my job, but he tried his best to help anyway). I know he wouldn’t want me to be sad now, and would be comforting me at this moment if he were still here. He was a very special cat: sweet, perceptive, intelligent, and loving. We loved him, and we will continue to love him forever.