Joe's Death

Joe McCulloch: 1995-2008

Well, that's it. After 13 or so years of being together, my cat Joe, died last night. But unlike the death of Jack and Rex in previous years - both of which died from kidney failure - Joe's death was fully unexpected.

Prior to his departure, Joe had most always been a healthy cat: chunky, but not overweight per se; well groomed; extremely healthy teeth and lastly, was undoubtedly one of the most active cats I had ever seen. Just minutes before his death, I had (in the name of fun) chased him down the hall a couple of times as he frolicked, shouted and snarled. That was the thing about Joe - he was one of a kind. He was far from a boring, regular old cat with no personality. Even having owned 5 cats at one point in time, I can quite honestly say that he was like no other.

Joe was always one of those cats that you admired for his extroverted personality. In all fairness, he was an absolute bastard, but I obviously loved him for that very fact. This is a cat which was not only very easily annoyed, but very easily made jealous; akin to some delirious house wife. If you talked to another cat when he he was in the vicinity, he'd make a big deal out of it by not only snarling at you, but by staring at the cat you were talking (specifically petting) to. He'd even scratch our wicker chairs to regain the attention he believe he deserved. What's more, Joe's idea of how to get a cat out of his sleeping area or even away from me or my father, was by cleaning the other cat. Yup, that's right - he would purposely clean them knowing they would eventually get tired of it, and move on out. And kudos to him, because it always worked.

When he didn't wanted to be talked to, and you wanted to talk to him, he'd most always make a snorting sound and immediately cringe. But when he wanted to talk to you, he would make sure he'd have his way. He'd obsess and bother you until he knew you'd give up out of frustration and just starting nurturing him. Bottom line: he knew how to get want he wanted.

And yet again, his death was completely unexpected; even if he was 17 years of age (was 3 when we got him). After chasing him around last night, me and my father weren't out of that bathroom for more than 5 minutes when he heard three loud yelps. Considering yelping was one of Joe's favourite things, It normally would have gone unnoticed, but these yelps were notably different. Both me and my father quickly ran to the bathroom where Joe was laying on the floor as his body convulsed and his throat gasped for air. Naturally, we thought he was choking on something and thus attempted to pump his stomach, but it was all too late. Truth is, we'll never quite know what happened to Joe. Our first assumption was that he had a heart attack, but there's also the possibility that he swallowed his tongue or perhaps choked on water and such.

It's hard to explain the sorrow of his death. The only thing that can be said is that my father has undoubtedly taken a harder hit than I have. Joe was always his favourite cat, and losing him is easily akin to losing a family member. But of cours, his death has greatly affected me too. I loved that cat with an undeniable passion. He was my little buddy. And over the last little while, I had never seen him so eager to talk to me. Every night over the last two months, he'd crawl into my room and rub his head against my hands to wake me up. And no surprise, It would always work, and then I'd happily let him sleep beside whilst he was partially covered by my bed-sheets.

At this moment, I am on the verge of yet again crying, but am doing my best to hold it in. Last night I hadn't any problems showing how I felt though.... I must have cried - while my head laid against his - for at least 40 minutes last night.

What makes Joe's death even more so tragic is that it marks the end of an era in my life. My cats are pretty much all I have left from the good old days. Once they pass, I'll have little, if anything to remind me of how things once were. There were so many memories in that cat's eyes it's not even funny. I had Joe when I lived in the United States, I had Joe at most troubling of times in my life.

Our commitment to Joe was unparalleled. For instance, several years ago Joe had an infection thus causing a lack of red blood cells and as a result, was slowly dying. We spent $800 at a vetenarian clinic to help him get better, and after weeks of hoping for improvement (and hand feeding him squished liquids) things started to turn positive. He fought off something which I don't think anyone thought he could

And yet Joe's demise last night was an unlikely one. Any regrets you ask? Yeah, but only one. I'll forever ask myself why I never took more pictures of him when he was alive. As to pay some sort of a strange homage to the little guy, I decided that I'd take a few photos of him after his death. Given that I never took enough photos of him when he was alive and kicking, I thought now would be the best time. The below photo was indeed taken 20 minutes after he had passed. If you look closely, you'll see that his eyes are overtly dilated...


Death of something you truly love is a always strange thing. While I have those moments when I'm in tears thinking about him, now is not one of them. Help keeping his memory alive - by writing this post - is how I will pay honour to the mighty Joe, or as he was affectionally referred to as, the "seal baby"; the latter of which is thanks not only in part to his grey fur, but his chunky body and his odd vocal chords.

Take care little man. You'll be missed.