Jellicle - Thanks for the Memories

by Patricia J. Whitney
(Bartlett, IL)

Two weeks before Jellicle died

Jellicle, Thanks for the Memories

(1990 ? 2009)

Jellicle was not a black and white Jellicle cat, she was actually a gray and brownish orange tortoise. But after seeing the play Cats based on T. S. Elliott?s poems in London twice, I named my adopted two-year-old cat Jellicle, a name that was difficult for many to pronounce, no less spell. Not only was she not a Jellicle Cat, neither was she the orange, Garfield ltype cat that I was looking for. But as with all my cats, Jellicle selected me as her mistress at the Oak Park animal shelter. When they took her out of the cage and put her on the floor, she tried to climb my leg. As I picked her up, she began her famous purr. She snuggled into my arms and into my heart. So who needed an orange cat anyway? Later on, I found out how fickle Jellicle was. She purred and snuggled with anyone who paid the slightest attention to her.
I never had a favorite child or a favorite cat, although I?ve been accused of favoring my Texas cat, Dallas. I gave my attention to the child or cat who was in need. Jellicle was never needy except for a lap. She wasn?t choosy whose lap she sat upon and through our first 15 years there were many laps to select from, mine included when no one else was around.
One month after I moved into my townhouse in Bartlett, 15-year-old Willow died. I made the decision not to get another cat. Dallas and Jellicle were well into their teens and both had heart murmurs. I didn?t want to add stress to their lives. Yet, in 2006 I accepted a job in Pennsylvania and moved them in their carriers in a 14 hour ride of howling and crying and their first stay in a motel.
Dallas, the loner, was fine. Jellicle needed extensive petting and a lap. Mine was the only one available. Just an important, I needed her unconditional love. I was alone, no family or friends and knew no one. Hence, our significant bonding began.
Jellicle was my comforter. She sensed when I had a rough day at VNA. She would sit next to me if I chased her off my lap and follow me from room to room. Although her hearing was going, she sensed my return and greeted me at the door with a welcome and a ?feed me? in her meow. After ten months in PA, Dallas had a heart attack and died. Now it was just Jelly and me. She took to sleeping in my bed at night on the pillow next to mine. We spent another fourteen months together in PA before we came back to Bartlett. The last six months things had become very difficult at work and Jellicle?s affection was all I had and was greatly appreciated.
Jellicle was my alarm clock. Promptly at 6:00 a.m. she started snorting in my face, walking on my back and crossing my head to the side I was facing to stare at me until I opened my eyes. She knew the time difference between Eastern (PA) and Central (IL). Plus, she was aware of daylight savings time. Returning to Illinois, she finally begrudgingly adjusted to my new rising time of 7:00 a.m. I was teaching at Concordia University until 10:00 p.m. one or two nights a week. When I returned at 11:00 p.m., I was scolded for being out so late and nmo way could I go on my computer. She would sit on the keyboard until I finally gave up. Ten o?clock was Jellicle?s designated bedtime for me. She would appear before me and stare until I turned off TV or my computer. She would settle on her pillow and allow me to read for ½ hour, no longer. Like clockwork after a half hour, she would lie on my book until I gave up.
Jellicle was flexible. I moved her seven times, from houses to apartments, city to a country farm, the rolling hills of PA and back to Bartlett. She adjusted to each setting within hours.
Jellicle was sociable. In her mind anyone who came to visit came to see and pet her. Oh, the indignation if I put her in a bedroom and closed the door when non cat lovers were due to visit.
Back in Illinois, we settled into a routine. I sensed that she enjoyed my semi retirement more than I. Jellicle went from two meals a day to four little ones. She had breakfast at 7:00 a.m. and at 121:00 a.m. she would stand at her bowl until I picked up her leftover breakfast and put it in the microwave for 10 seconds. We would repeat the procedure at dinner at 6:00 p.m. and warm up at 8:00 p.m. Her ?day bed? was by the patio door where she lay and watched me feed the geese, ducks and birds. Only the squirrels got a rise out of her. She knew a rodent when she saw one. One squirrel would tap on the glass just to aggravate her. As old as she was, a month before she died a stupid mouse came into the house and darted under the stove. For two days Jellicle spent hours in front of the stove waiting. Eventually it left and my mouser returned to her daily routine. Some evenings she would sit on the arm of my desk chair and watch me play my favorite computer game. She liked to see the marble-like pieces fall.
Jelllicle was gracious. She gave me a month?s advance warning that she was leaving me. She was hiding under the bed, a sign that she was ill. I dragged her out, placed her on her pillow and decided that she probably was dying. She didn?t seem to be in pain, wouldn?t eat or drink, but didn?t go back into hiding. By mid afternoon I decided to take her to the vet to have her checked out. I left her there and the vet said she would call me with the results of Jelliclle?s blood work. A cat of 19 years of age, I was prepared for the worse. The vet called in the middle of class to say Jellicle was slightly dehydrated and in the beginnings of kidney failure (I was told that three years prior) but that her blood results were good. She had a slight infection that could be treated with an antibiotic. Fine ? I almost ?caticided? my Jellicle. A week after her being on antibiotics she was perky again.
The next month was a gift of love and devotion a/k/a a wake up call. At 19 years, Jellicle slept almost 18 hours a day. Now it was more like 20 hours. Whatever room I settled in, she had a favorite place to sleep. We comforted each other with our presence. The day before she died, she spent the entire day sleeping on a pillow on the living room couch. Since I was in and out of the room watching a NCIS marathon, I didn?t think much about her lack of movement. At dinner time she was still on the pillow. I brought her diner to the couch which she ate. When I turned off the lights she came upstairs and settled on her pillow on my bed.
The next morning, the Sunday before Memorial Day, I felt her twice trying to jump up on me for my wake up call. She missed me both times and then went under the bed. I got her out but it looked as if her back legs weren?t working. I thought she had a TIA but then she?d walk and fall over on her side. I knew she was having seizures. Still not in pain, I didn?t want to chance her being scared or start experiencing pain. I called the vet and we planned to meet at 9:00 a.m.
I put Jelly in her bed and drove the half hour ride into the city. I was afraid that she wasn?t going to make it to the vet?s but she did. The vet was very fond of Jellicle so the three of us spent time together. Dr. H. left the two of us alone after she gave her an injection to make her sleepy. I kept her in her little bed and by the time Dr. H. gave her the lethal injection, I think Jelly was gone. I left her in her bed. I could not take it home without her. Her last gift to me was a sweet death.
Jellicle was considerate. I was to go to Ely, MN the end of June and was frantically looking for a cat/house sitter, not wanting to leave Jelly alone. I had three expensive prospects but people I?d feel comfortable leaving her with. Jellicle gave me the freedom of not having to worry about her, the expense or how the sitter would feel if she died on her watch while I was away.
Finally, Jellicle was the end of an era. I?ve never lived alone and since she left me it has been very lonely and quiet. Not that Jelly was noisy, but I talked to her constantly. Now, I don?t hear the sound of my voice. Yes, I journal, but I told my cats, particularly Jellicle, some thoughts that I didn?t want to put in print. She moved with me and lived in houses/apartments that none of my human family has. She saw me through some life experiences that were horrendous, including a divorce, three back surgeries and loss of several loved ones, bearing with me and giving me no grief, only unconditional love. She took me home to Bartlett and waited until I was settled in before saying adios.
So, do I have a favorite? No, but I have a special sentiment for the last one who stay me through to the beginning of my last phase of life. And, I know when I pick another cat and perhaps a D-O-G, she will be right there with me selecting the perfect pet for her mistress.

Patricia J. Whitney
May/June 2009