For Nigel
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I've never met anyone quite like Nigel. He was kind, he was funny, he was affectionate. He had a mischievous streak a mile wide, but he was pure with it; always innocent in intent. He made me smile. He made me laugh. He made me happy. He kept me company. In truth, I realised recently, he had become my best friend. He was also a cat.
I know lots of people that would think it ridiculous for a grown man to feel so attached to a pet. That's okay. If you haven't experienced it yourself, I can appreciate why. In your shoes, I might even feel the same. It does sound silly. But if you'll indulge me a while, you might at least come to understand why I don't mind being ridiculous; why, for many years, it has been the most worthwhile thing I could be. Almost everyone forms a bond with those around them. As humans, many of our closest bonds are with other people. We might grow attached to an animal, but we rarely hold them in the same regard as we would a human. There are good reasons for this: we're the same species, we have the same desires, we share (or can share) a common language. But bonds can take many forms. If anything, often the only thing they have in common is love.
Anyone who has had a pet will understand this—especially those who have had a cat or dog (though there are, I'm sure, other animals with which one could develop a similar bond). However much you interact with them, even if you just live in the same house while someone else takes care of them, pets become a part of your life. It might be in subtle ways, such as the familiar sound of them padding across a hard surface at certain times of day, or more in depth ways, such as having them as a constant companion, but they will find a way into your routine. I've known people who, by their own admission, didn't much care for animals who, when they were gone, felt the loss far more than they thought possible. The more time you spend with them, intentionally or otherwise, the more likely you are to form a strong connection.
I love animals. I got that from my dad. As a child, he shared his excitement for all things non-human with me. I inherited his fascination with wildlife and his affection for those we might consider pets. It was because of him I got my first cat, and—many years later—why I gave two cats a home as an adult.
I'm writing this today because one of those cats passed away yesterday. It was sudden and unexpected. He was so young: just over seven years old. And, as I already said, he was my best friend.
We got Nigel from a gumtree ad on the 28th of June 2014. He'd been born a couple of months earlier (29th April) and was bright-eyed, playful and the most beautiful tabby kitten you've ever seen. He was also, unbeknownst to us, covered in fleas. Once that was dealt with, however, he quickly became an integral part of our home.
Unlike our other cat, Steve, Nigel spent the majority of his early life being fairly aloof. Right up to his final days, he never lost his kitten-like mannerisms and behaviours—still as eager to chase and pounce on anything that caught his attention as he had been when we got him. In his first few years, however, he was so playful, and so easily distracted, that he barely acknowledged us at all except as the providers of food. He had little to no interest in fuss and spent most of his time with a wild-eyed fascination with the world around him, and in particular with whatever delights it might present to chase. In recent years, however, that changed. While still playful and active, he settled enough to develop the most incredible personality I've ever known in a cat.
Nigel was easily the most affectionate and selfless cat I've ever known. That's not to say he wasn't sometimes as self-serving as any other when he wanted something, but as much as it is possible, he seemed to come to care for us almost as much as we did him. He didn't like being on his own if there was a chance he could be near us instead. He'd follow us wherever we went, often trying to 'help' with whatever we were doing, but usually just trying to be nearby. He got visibly excited when he saw us, and purred at the sound of his own name (or any of the nicknames we probably used far more than we ever used 'Nigel').
With lockdown being as it has been in the last eighteen months, I've spent the vast majority of my time at home. I've been to 'an office' (I recently changed employer, hence not just 'the office') a mere handful of times in that period, and it's only in the last few months that I've started leaving the house for anything else at all. Even then, it's usually just been for the amount of time it takes to do the weekly shop, but he'd be waiting when I got back. Nigel and I were very close even before lockdown started, but the bond we established since made us almost inseparable. Except for those few occasions I left the house, he was rarely more than a handful of metres from me. More often than not, he would follow me into any room I went and usually find somewhere to curl up for the duration of my time in there, always with one ear in my direction in case I made to leave. In the evenings, he would jump up onto the arm of the sofa and head butt me incessantly until I fussed him, all the time rumbling with the most gorgeous motor-boat purr of his. Within minutes, he'd usually be upside down, snoozing with his head and/or paws resting on my chest or stomach, or even relocated entirely to my lap. At night, I'd wake to find him stretched out along my side, fast asleep, or curled up in a tight ball in front of my pillow so my chin was resting on his side. Even when I was working—usually in the kitchen or living room—he'd find a space on the table, or on a chair I'd have to pull out next to me for that specific purpose... at least when he wasn't trying to walk or sit on the laptop and sending indecipherable messages to my colleagues.
And I indulged him. I honestly couldn't imagine doing anything else. Having him settle down with me was a highlight of my day, no matter how often it happened in any twenty-four hour period. It was only a few weeks ago that I was shaking my head and laughing at myself for how stupidly excited I got when I saw him come into the living room after me; how much I willed him to jump up onto the arm of the chair so we could touch foreheads while I rubbed his shoulders and scratched his cheeks. And I felt that way every time. Even when he did something naughty—like pulling up the carpet when I'd had the audacity to shut him out of the room I was in (usually the bathroom) and he desperately wanted to follow—my anger would immediately ebb away the moment I saw him. I couldn't be mad with him. Seeing him, and how fondly he looked at me, just made me too damn happy.
The vast majority of us—I would hope all, but sadly, I know there will be exceptions—will have something or somebody that makes us feel good whenever we see them. Even then, there will be times when that isn't true. Maybe there will be an argument, or something that reminds us, however briefly, of something sad. With Nigel, I can't think of a single such exception. I can't think of a time where seeing him made me feel anything but love. Even on the handful of occasions where he was ill—and, of course, in the final hours of his life when a sudden ailment brought him low without warning—there was worry, but there was always love. Seeing him never failed to fill my heart to the brim.
Nigel was my best friend. He was my constant companion, my shadow, the kindest, sweetest, most affectionate cat in the world. I don't know if cats love, but from his behaviour, I can't imagine he felt anything less for us than that. And in return, he wanted for nothing. I would do anything for him; just as I'd do anything to have him touch foreheads with me again today. His absence will leave a hole in my life I expect I'll never fill. However exaggerated it sounds, I am devastated by his loss—so young, so sudden. My heart—my entire being—feels broken. But I am so grateful for the seven years we spent together. He was the best of cats, and the best of friends, and he made me a better human.
Rest easy, Poo-cat. I love you more than you could ever have imagined. I hope we gave you a wonderful life, however unfairly short it was. And I hope you know that you returned that favour a million times over every single day. I'm going to miss you so much.
Nigel Faulkner, 29th April 2014 – 7th August 2021.
My shadow, my little dude, my best friend.
