It’s been a rough month. Besides contracting Covid and (worse) my mother getting it and going into the hospital, the bad-news Gods performed their usual magic last week and took Jinxy from me.
In 2002, both of my cats died, leading me to forever give up on pets of any kind. The pain of saying goodbye was too much. Four years later, I moved to Europe and moved in with a woman there. She was hell-bent on getting a pet, even going so far as to find a Maine Coon dealer in a little village outside of Prague. I wasn’t crazy about it at first, but after meeting Jinxy, I acquiesced.
They say Maine Coons feature the best characteristics of dogs and cats with few of the negatives. I’d say that’s true. Jinxy was friendly to strangers, independent, whip-smart, and so very, very whiny. One of his favorite activities was watching me do…anything. He had a need to be involved with cooking and cleaning and just about every activity.
He grew fast (I think MCs are the second biggest domestic breed) and soon dwarfed any other cats he came across.
When my girlfriend and I split up, Jinx and I lived together in Prague for another 3 years. We had some great times together.
When it came time to come back to the States, Jinxy had to travel by himself. It was a plane filled with barking dogs and horses and snakes. He was an adventurous cat. While living in the suburbs, he discovered the joys of the outdoors. He loved spending his retirement chasing the squirrels and chattering at the birds. And of course, he loved helping me write.
Unfortunately, Maine Coons (like a lot of purebreeds) are predisposed to certain health risks. He lived with some kidney problems, but what finally killed him was his heart. It was too big. The last two years I had to shove six pills down his throat every day — fun shit!
In the end, he couldn’t breathe on his own. Luckily, he didn’t suffer much and the end came quickly.
I miss him dearly. He was a wonderful companion and a good friend. Rest easy, Jinxy.