Poco is the black cat, and Herb is the white one. About 5 months ago Herb became very sick very suddenly, and at 13 years old we made the painful decision to euthanize him as he was basically in organ failure. I had a weird relationship with Herb. He was skittish around me when he was younger but in the last year or so of his life he started chilling with me more often and calmly. I came to the realization that he had been afraid of my mood. My post-shift disposition clearly made a larger impression than my day off one did, and as I gradually stopped having down days altogether he was more than acutely aware and generally steered clear. In hindsight Herb was my canary. He knew I was sick.

One side of our laundry room houses my workbench and tools, and I have spent a lot of time there over the years, tinkering with electronics, getting high and hiding. Herb would hang out with me in there, sleeping and lounging on the crap on the dryer or watching my activity, evolving from running away to being one to never refuse a head or chin scratch on my way past. He would even be purring. I always made jokes about him being a dud pet due to his nervous demeanor. Ironic.

This was a new level of trust. He loved the sink, but not usually when I was there. He always seemed to have a dumb look on his face as if he wasn’t ever sure of why he was even doing what he was doing. He was a presence I jeered but secretly loved. I miss seeing him when I go in the laundry room. I will always cherish the fun I had with the kids when Herb was younger and being a spazz.

Poco was an entirely different cat. She was my little girl. My first real pet. Her original name was Hash because she was a dark brown hash colour when she was sprawled in the sunlight. Once our first son came along my wife and I decided to officially change her name to something not drug-related. I had fish before her as a kid. Fish are cool but they don’t hold a candle to a little black kitty comforting you after a shitty day at work. I got her as a kitten about 2 months before I finished college and started working. I had always wanted a black cat growing up and the opportunity presented itself if slightly earlier than I was planning. She was a fixture of my life for 19 years. A couple weeks ago we’re assuming she fell sometime overnight. We found her in the morning unable to weight bear on her hind right leg and crying in pain when we touched it. She ended up having a severe oblique fracture of her right femur. Surgery involving bone reconstruction with pins and plates and months of recovery for a 19 year old cat doesn’t have great prospects. We made the hard decision to euthanize her.

I miss her. I miss how her initially faint timid meow had evolved into a startling scream as she aged. I miss all those little pets throughout the day whenever I passed by. I miss how she would lick the gravy off of wet food but leave all the actual food in the bowl, preferring her ‘meat cheerios’ as I called them. I miss how she would shit on the floor in front of the litter box to signal it needed freshened up. I miss how she chose to drink from the toilet instead of a bowl up until she wasn’t nimble enough and finally had to relent. I miss how she would rummage through the garbage looking for the yellow cigarette box tabs you would pull off to open them because the stupid cat loved eating them like tinsel. I miss how she would climb all over me but when I was upset would quietly sit with me instead. She was affectionate but never sat still; the morning after the night shift that Jean died in my arms and I came home blaming and hating myself for the deadly mistake I had made Poco came and calmly sat in my lap for the first time. I remember it well. After everyone had left for daycare, school and work I went downstairs and I broke down. I cried and told her about how I had killed someone at work that night. She calmly attempted to soothe my devastation at a time in her life when she was usually more interested in climbing all over me. She always seemed to know when I had had a shitty call even though I was busy denying the impact.

My little girl is gone.

I’m really going to miss them. They were a positive presence in our home. We have worked through the grief together as a family, which is kind of new for us. We’re not hiding it or numbing it. We’re encouraging it. It’s a final pearl of wisdom gifted to us by the unconditional love of Poco and Herb.