JayJay

The day I met JayJay. I remember this day clearly. I was about ten years old my mom got me and my sisters and loaded us up in the minivan. Mama was a teacher and one of her coworkers had a litter of little white kittens. My sister wanted one and we went to get it. I remember seeing JayJay for the first time in that carport. She was so sweet. She kept to herself and didn't make much of a fuss. Her strategy was "be still and no one will notice me." But my sister did notice. She always had a way of finding and taking care of the meek. And when my sister picked her up JayJay buried her face into my sister's hair and purred. That was it. JayJay became part of our family.

That was 20 years ago. So much has happened in those years. My sisters and I grew up, married, moved away. Three different states. Thousands of miles. JayJay made every move my sister did. She accepted every change -- husband and kids.

You might call JayJay eccentric. She insisted on living in a closet. Or under a bed. Somewhere quiet and peaceful. She's like my sister in that respect -- sweet and calm. But if you made her mad she would exact revenge. And the punishment she unleashed was unending. Anger her once and face a life time of her pooping in your pants every time you took them off and left on the floor. (She did that to my sister's husband so often it became a family joke.)

Other memories are less specific. Not so much focused on JayJay, but bigger memories that she was a part of.

I remember Jay Jay sitting under the Christmas tree while we opened presents one year -- more than a decade ago. She'd gotten locked out of my sister's room and took up residence in the first small, warm space. There are so many memories like that. Family memories that she's part of. Not doing anything in particular, just being a part of our family. I think that's why when JayJay died last week I found myself boo-hooy and teary-eyed. We keep moving forward, making new memories, but some of the most special parts of our old memories are fading away. Disappearing slowly. No longer part of the background. I think that's what breaks my heart so much. She's not the only part that's slipped away.