I adopted Francisco 20 years ago under duress. I had a tuxedo cat as a child and didn't want the reminder of Kitty who disappeared under mysterious circumstances when I was 9 or 10. I searched high and low for the perfect non-tuxedo and also I wanted a female cat. Instead I got everything I didn't want: two male cats, one tuxedo and one black. The black cat died young, but Francisco lived on to be 18 years old. He became the center of my life. There for me during some of the most tumultuous periods of my life.
He was fiercely protective. He functioned as a barometer for relationships that matched my worth. It was not unusual for him to use his mace-like paw to establish dominance, mark a border or punishment for some perceived slight. Frank grew to just under 20 lbs. by the time he was seven years old.
When I moved to Italy he was too heavy to ride in the cabin. He had to fly in cargo which was a nerve-wracking experience for us both. At JFK I had to go through the metal detectors with him in my arms, all we had were each other making the transatlantic journey. He seemed to understand the moment and was exceedingly complaint even in the chaos of JFK's TSA. We had a brief layover in Germany in which he had to deplane and go through European customs. The Germans claimed they couldn't find his microchip and we would not be allowed to proceed. My German is rudimentary, but I made it clear that Francisco would not being staying in Germany without me. They quickly realized how much of problem this would be especially if it was their faulty equipment causing the issue. After a few phone calls were allowed to complete our journey to Vicenza.
We spent the next seven years in Italy where he outlived two other cats in our household and escaped a devastating house fire that almost claimed my life. He took refuge on the roof of the apartment building during the fire and was waiting on the couch for help to come get him.
In 2017 we moved to Savannah spending a few months in a hotel before finding our home in the suburbs. He was a companion and also a deep source of comfort, but he began to show signs of age in 2019. He developed a heart problem, then kidney disease. He was on several medications. He disliked all of them and could detect them in his food. He would refuse the food tainted with his lifesaving meds, but age and disease took some of the vigor out of him and I could subdue him with effort and administer the meds.
Medication can only do so much. He began to loose weight, suffer incontinence and constipation. Last year in February at his final veterinary visit I was faced with the decision to end his long life. He was not getting better and his quality of life had diminished too much to justify a continuation. I knew this day was coming and yet I was not prepared for the despair that engulfed me.
We had to break the news to our son, but he had a friend's birthday party to attend so we held off on telling him for a few days. When he asked when Francisco was coming home we said he needed to spend a few days with the doctor. Eventually we had to tell him which was a fresh wave of pain.
The grieving process for a beloved pet is very different than grieving a human. Francisco gave me an unconditional love that was unlike any human relationship. He was also wholly dependent on me for all his needs and therefor a large power differential.
My veterinary hospital made a donation in Frank's name to the University of Georgia's Veterinary Hospital. He was cremated. The veterinarian sent his ashes back with a tuft of his hair. I intended to take Frank back to Brooklyn to spread his ashes, but on a recent trip to NYC I realized it was better to keep him with me. We are both better off together.
