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Vital Statistics
Born: c. May 15, 1988
Adopted: July 14, 1988 Died: November 22, 2004 |
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Also Known As
JT
John Thomas John Quincy Thomas Juanito Johnny Toes Peemore Mr. Pee Johnster Johnson |
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According to the stars
Patient, affectionate Johnny
was a Taurus kitty, ruled by the planet Venus and loving his creature comforts. |
But what could I do? There was this little gray tabby kitten with big ears and big feet, looking out at the world with innocent eyes. Through no fault of his own, he needed a home. When I held his warm, well-fed body and smelled his clean fur, I couldn't fathom how someone could feed and care for him for two months, then abandon him to almost certain death along the roadway.
No, I wasn't ready for another cat--but another cat was ready for me. His need and my broken heart met and melded. In the subtle shift of a moment's time, our cold, empty house became a home again.
Johnny would never be an intellectual among cats but he made us laugh and was my solace. From somewhere deep in my memory, his stripy coat kindled the recollection of my very first cat--a little tabby named Tiny Tiger--lost in the mists of time. But not just for memories and comfort, Johnny was loved for himself--a plain and basic cat with simple needs and a loving heart.
Johnny opened our hearts to others. In October of 1988, I brought home a small black kitten to be his playmate. Johnny was delighted and doted on Newt. The two kittens grew into life-long friends. Other cats gradually joined our household, and Johnny welcomed them all.
In our human recollection, it seems like only yesterday he was a pansy-faced kitten exploring the impossible greenness of an Alaskan summer. But time passes more swiftly in the life of a cat. Johnny gave us sixteen years of unfailing love and good cheer. His daily greetings left no doubt in our minds that he adored us. He would drape himself around our shoulders and purr with contentment as we wore him like a fur collar. He trusted us so implicitly that all we had to do was hold out a hand and he would step onto the palm, walking down an arm like it was a tree limb and never thinking we might let him fall.
He retained good health well into feline old age, seeming unchanged by the passage of time. But in the fall of 2004, in just the course of a few days, he went blind. The loss of his sight signalled the beginning of his slow decline. Age took his vision from him, but not his loving heart, which had always been his most outstanding quality. We spent many bitter-sweet hours sitting with him in those last months, renewing our life-long bond of affection with him, our first Homer cat. His twilight days were sad but full of gratitude and happy memories of a shared life.
Johnny died quietly in his sleep at midday on November 22, 2004. We buried him beside Newt. Though we miss them both, I draw some comfort in knowing that they will sleep side by side into eternity.
