Goodbye to Tyler

Carly's cat, Tyler, died last week. It was 15 years ago that Santa brought him as an orange and white fuzzball kitten to an equally orange and white fuzzball of a 5 year old girl. He came into our lives full of wonder, mischief and love. He left us richer, wiser, more capable of kindness, much like a cat kind of Pope or Buddha.

As a kitten, he was the Baby Jesus, wrapped in Carly's blanket as she adoringly gazed at him as she played a very convincing Holy Mother. He tried "rail-climbing" from the second floor only to prove to us that cats don't always land on their feet. He preferred his water from the bathroom sink, and he really liked for Calvin and Hobbes (his younger cat brothers) to be vanquished to the basement at bedtime, leaving him to rule the roost on the first and second floors. He adored Carly, begging for entrance into the magical world that existed only in her room.

As we both got older, Tyler and I stayed up waiting for the kids to come home, missing them while they were gone. We ate breakfast and read the paper together each morning. He waiting outside of my shower to lick the water from the shower door. I faithfully fed him, scooped his poop, brushed him. I watched him become a ferocious tiger as I took him to the vet, enduring the humiliation of having the vet tech write AGGRESSIVE on his chart. As hard as it is for me to admit it, leaving Tyler behind was one of the hardest parts of leaving my marriage.

I used to wonder why I would invite something into our lives that we loved so much knowing that it would die without making a significant contribution to the family. Tyler never paid a bill, made a bed, for that matter, he never even caught a mouse.

What Tyler did do was far more important. He listened to Carly when no one else would or could. He loved her unconditionally, forgave her mean words or absence. He would flatten his body next to hers with his paws around her like a toddler's. He kept her secrets. He licked her tears. He was a constant in a little girl's life that changed frequently, sometimes frighteningly. He taught her to see the world outside of herself, to care for those who could not care for themselves.

In the last couple of years, Carly has grown up. I guess she's had to. Perhaps it was time for it to happen, even if I had been able to stay with her dad. I'm not sure. I know there are times when I wish that I could hold her in my lap, wash a skinned knee, smell the back of her little sweaty neck just one more time. Just like the Holy Mother though, I get to hold all of these close to my heart, remember when she was both a kitten and a tiger. And I will never think of that little girl without remembering Tyler.