UpUpUp loved to use his pillows and blankets to make forts for himself to snuggle into
DAVID TAFFET | Senior Staff Writer
Taffet@DallasVoice.com
Nine years ago today — on March 6, 2017 — my husband Brian died. Two weeks ago, his cat passed away. We all think our pets are special, but, for me, losing UpUpUp was like losing Brian again.
In 2017, March 6 fell on a Monday. I had said goodbye to Brian that morning as usual, but when I got home, he was passed out on the floor. And UpUpUp was standing guard over him.
The 911 system wasn’t working properly that day, but that’s another story. Still, when the ambulance finally came, the first responders were great. They tried CPR and decided to transport him a few blocks away to Parkland.
Brian died at the hospital that night.
I came home after midnight, and, when I walked into the apartment, UpUpUp saw I was alone. He let out a scream in a way I had never heard a cat shriek before. He understood Brian was gone, and he began sobbing, having trouble catching his breath.
It’s interesting how animals understand death without having it explained to them. But what was more interesting was how UpUpUp began mourning.
For the first week, he hid under the bed, coming out only to eat a few bites. And he cried a lot.
There was no comforting him.
The next month, he began to come out from under the bed and walked the perimeter of the apartment as if searching for Brian. Sometimes he’d cry, but he always went back under the bed.
The next couple of months, UpUpUp began healing. But he wouldn’t respond to me calling his name. He had never really learned the name Brian gave him, so that was not really a surprise.
One night, I was laying in bed and called the cat while channeling Brian. He would call the cat up onto the bed by patting the mattress seven times and in ascending tones call, “Up Up Up,” with that final “Up” pronounced with two syllables.
The cat came to me.
So I tried it laying on the floor while the cat was on the bed and called “Up Up Up,” using Brian’s tones, and the cat came to me again.
I realized it wasn’t that he didn’t learn his name; we just never called him by his preferred name. He thought his name was UpUpUp, and that’s what it had been ever since.
A couple of years after Brian’s death, I bought a condo in a complex Brian and I had looked at the year before he died. UpUpUp was very happy in his new home.
He didn’t complain that his litter box was upstairs and his pile of blankets and pillows were on the sofa downstairs. He’d arrange the blankets and pillows to build forts, which were conveniently located right under an air conditioning duct where he preferred to sleep. He was quite industrious when it came to his comfort and built some elaborate pillow and blanket forts.
A few weeks ago, I noticed UpUpUp wasn’t quite himself. Going up the stairs was taking more time, and he was getting more particular about his food. I’d have to open three cans before he decided which flavor he wanted.
I got him an extra litter box for downstairs so he wouldn’t have to climb the stairs. But instead of him peeing in it, I found him curled up asleep in it.
On his last night, he did something odd: In the middle of the night, UpUpUp made it upstairs, and he jumped into bed and curled up with me. We both knew it was his last night.
Before going to the office the next morning, I spent some extra time with him scratching him the way he loved to be scratched. The last thing I told him was that I loved him and that, if he sees Brian, he should jump into his arms.
When I got home, I found him there, dead on the floor. His body was still warm. I wrapped him up and took him to the vet so she could handle his remains.
And as I did, I had that same terrible sinking feeling I remembered from nine years ago when I lost Brian. Memories of that terrible night when I was unable to get through to 911 poured back.
But just as Brian had died peacefully — I was the one who was frantic — his cat passed away peacefully, too. Both of them died in the same position, stretched out on the floor.
UpUpUp was 16 years old. And even though I got to care for him nine years longer than Brian did, I always referred to him as Brian’s cat.
He was my last connection to Brian, and now, he’s gone, too. For the past few weeks, I’ve been missing both of them.