This morning our cat, Desmond Meriweather III – Desi for short, passed away. A trip to the veterinarian office this morning confirmed our fears and it was decided that having him euthanized was the most humane option. He was fairly young, only eight years old. But sadly it was his time.
We adopted Desi as an eight-week old kitten from the Watertown Humane Society during our days at Fort Drum. He and our chocolate lab Lucy grew up together (they were only two weeks apart in age) and were often by each others sides – either relaxing or getting into mischief. One of my favorite memories of their shenanigans happened during Clay’s first deployment when I arrived home from work to find Desi on our apartment roof and Lucy hanging out of the window, having punched out the screen.
Desi was a bit of a character. We lovingly referred to him as an asshole because, well, he was an asshole. He would often walk into a room as if he owned the damn place. We would joke that he would outlive us out of spite, which is just depressing to think about now. Desi was somewhat well-traveled for a cat, having lived in four states and visited seventeen. He was sweet; always looking for a lap to sit on or a free hand to pet his back. And he was always sure to remind us when the water bowl level was getting dangerously low.
Desi was more than just a cat, he was a member of our family. While he never made the cut for our Christmas card picture, he certainly was loved. And he will be dearly missed.
And no, we’re not getting another cat.