Ode to Maggie

My newlywed parents found a tiny black cat in an alley in 1970s Brooklyn. They took her home, and named her PJ. She was their baby, until I came along. The only memory I have of PJ is her hissing at me and scratching my face. I was very young, so I don't remember why, but I wasn't keen on animals after that. Would you be?

PJ passed away when I was still young. We didn't get another pet after that.

When I was in the third grade, my best friend found a small grey and white cat in a strip mall parking lot and brought her home. Two days later, that cat had four kittens. My friend already had two dogs, and the new mom was having none of it. Imagine this little cat chasing after a Rottweiler and Irish Wolfhound! When the kittens were old enough, my friend's family gave two away, kept two for themselves, and offered the mother to me. 

I was skeptical. She sounded mean, like another PJ. But Mom named her Maggie and brought her home. Maggie made her mark right away. She caught mice and birds in our yard, got into occasional fights with strays, and explored the neighbors' yards. Despite her adventures, she still came home every night to eat and sit on the couch with us. 

One day, I was making a sandwich and offered Maggie a piece of turkey. It was our first bonding experience. From that day on, she came running whenever she heard the rustle of the deli plastic. It came in handy when I had trouble calling her inside at night.

Over time, the hunting and fights stopped. She was healthy, just getting older. She still had moments of playfulness, especially with jingle ball toys, and the pile of wrapping paper on Christmas morning. I wondered if she had any memory of life as a stray, or her kittens. 

Through elementary, middle, and high school, Maggie was a constant in my life. After school, she'd sit on my lap and I'd forget, at least for a while, about how Jessica made fun of me or the bad grade I got on my math test. I'd rant about stupid boys or whatever else I was obsessed with that day. I knew she couldn't understand me, and probably wasn't even listening, but she tolerated it. That was enough for me.

I missed Maggie terribly when I went off to college. Her photo had a prominent place on the desk in my dorm room. Her advancing age became more noticeable each time I came home to visit. She moved slower, she got even fatter, at one point up to 18 pounds! It was harder for her to jump up on the couch, and she was no longer interested in going outside.

After college, I moved away. Maggie got sick and passed away, at the ripe old age of 15. I was sad, but it wasn't until my next visit home that it hit me. I went to make myself a turkey sandwich, rustled the bag, but Maggie never came. The house suddenly felt so empty.

I could've easily been sworn off of cats for life after PJ's scratch, and never adopted another pet. But Maggie not only turned me into a cat person, she made the rest of my family love animals, too! My father adopted another cat about a year after Maggie died. I also adopted two cats. My brother adopted a dog. I can't imagine my life without their companionship. Thank you, Maggie.