He was the best cat ever, and made people who hate cats, love him. He thought he was a dog, and outweighed some Yorkies I know, at 26 lbs at his biggest. He licked people in greeting and once you touched him, he was in love with you and would cuddle right up wherever you were. He was the kind of cat I'd always wanted; loveable and social and perfect as far as pets go.
He let Max treat him like a jungle gym, and wanted to be wherever he was once he got older. They played together, and cuddled together, and loved each other.
My mother-in-law, who is a cat expert of sorts, has always said that, “When they stop purring, it's time to let go.” Cats can deal with a lot, but that's the one thing that, once it happens, it's time.
Geoffrey's illness came on fast; it started out as snoring loudy; we realized within days that it was because he was gasping for breath.
But he still loved us.
The morning he stopped purring, we knew it was time.
We cuddled with him one last time, took some pictures, and Jamie took him for one last car ride.
Watching them drive down the street was horrible.
He was the greatest cat ever, and I will miss him always.
We're adjusting, and surviving. Not ready to talk about another pet yet, but I think we may just wait until Max is older and get a dog. Who knows at this point. Geoffrey brought us a LOT of joy, so he deserves to be mourned for a while.
And now, because I don't want to be a total downer, and because I've only talked about myself and now really how Max is handling this, a funny:
We were at a friend's baby shower last weekend, and explaining to Max that the woman he was talking to, Maureen, is his friend Brooke's grandma, and our friend David's mom. (He's at that age where he's fascinated by relationships between people.) As he nodded his understanding, this happened:
Max: But where's Dayvee's Daddy?
Me: Well, his Daddy's in Heaven… he isn't here any more.
Jamie: He's hanging out with Geoffrey, in Heaven.
Max *pause*: His Daddy's in CAT HEAVEN?!?!?!?