This is Bassie’s mom. I have some very sad news to report.
On Monday, 19 August, our beloved Jami was killed by a car. He ran out the front door unnoticed when my husband got home that evening. When he hadn’t come back by the next morning, we started searching the neighborhood. We found him a couple of blocks away. He had jumped over the fence in the back of the house and met his end on a main street of our area.
My husband tells me I shouldn’t feel guilty. Jami was always trying to go out. He just adored hunting lizards in the garden and he was very good at it. He was very fast and often we realized he had gone out only because we missed him at home.
Whenever we knew he had gotten out, we always fetched him back in. Even had I known that he was outside, finding a cat in the dark in an area of several blocks square is next to impossible. Still, I feel that, in the end, I failed Jami because I didn’t protect him, and for that failure I beg foregiveness from all who helped bring Jami to us.
Jami came to us through the effort of many people on Sunday, 28 Oct 2012. In the barely ten months he was with us, he worked his way deep into our hearts and we feel his loss keenly. He was “Motor Mouth,” “Fat Boy,” “Jami Kitty,” “Fat Red,” and many other endearments. He talked our ears off. He made us laugh. He cut off our circulation when he draped his seventeen pounds over our legs in bed. He was best friends with Samson. He begged food and cuddles from my Alzheimer mom. He enjoyed curling up in her wheelchair on top of the gel anti-pressure-sore cushion. He slept on her bed and cuddled with Java there. He was a favorite with the ladies who help take care of my mom.
I tell myself that he died quickly and that he will never experience the aches and illnesses of old age and chronic disease. His life here was a good and happy one. He gave and received love. That may all be true; I have to believe it is true. Nonetheless I feel bereft and bereaved.