Between homiletic references and my general willingness to talk about them in general (!), I suspect that parishioners from all of the communities I have served know that I am a cat person. I grew up in a family of cat lovers, with several underfoot at any given point in our family history. One of the lesser - although admittedly not so lesser! - sacrifices of going to seminary was not having a cat around at any given time. But as ordination drew nearer, my folks assured me that after I was ordained a priest and had space of my own, one of my ordination gifts would be helping me get a cat as soon as reasonably possibly!

Happily, my first pastor - Father Tuan Nguyen of Saint Anne parish (since renamed after Pope St. John XXIII) - and my fellow vicars were game for me having a cat, provided that he stayed in my suite of the rectory! So off we went to the local Humane Society, to consider the options.

It didn't take me long to be drawn to a small, slightly older (he was ~1 year old at the time) black kitten in a cage at the end of the hallway. He was precociously demanding - sticking his paw out at every person who walked by to try to grab (literally!) their attention. Unfortunately, a young couple was already there in front of the cage, debating about whether or not they wanted him or some other cat in the place. I'm only a slightly embarrassed to admit that I waited until just after they had walked away to go over, pet the little guy briefly, and then got his cage information so I could hightail it to the front desk to secure his adoption. Mischief managed! .... though I sincerely hope that the couple found their own perfect feline friend.

As for Qwerty, well, I am certain that he was the perfect housecat for me. Though he was active most of his life, his favorite thing was to follow me into the chapel and splay himself across my chest, head tucked under my chin, purring contentedly while I prayed - nevermind how much harder it was to position my breviary around him! He was quick to recognize when I was walking towards the chapel and would inevitably cause me to stumble around him as he dashed around my feet to the recliner. And he was content to stay in his favorite position for as long as I was there, which might have been a factor in how long I spent in the chapel myself ('COL' or 'cat on lap' is a real condition folks!).

As the years have gone by, Qwerty started slowing down - but he never lost his friendliness. It wasn't until a parishioner pointed it out that I realized that he would often sit in the window closest to the door from which I left, looking out for my return - his backlit black silhouette making a splendid appearance (and eliciting not a little guilt from his owner)! Though he would often meow when he was alone - or thought he was alone - he was spoiled rotten, by both me and any visitors from whom he demanded attention, loudly. I'm certain I encouraged his vocalizations, often talking back to him - though not always sympathetically, as one seminarian laughingly observed upon hearing me somewhat mockingly respond "aww, sad cat is sad".

Over the last few months, Qwerty's age started to catch up with him. His eyes developed cataracts and he couldn't quite follow the laser light that once so captured his attention. Though he would still follow me to the chapel and take up his customary place, he would often need to be picked up from the floor - and he'd stay nestled in the seat of the recliner long after I left, sometimes all day. Lately he would complain loudly, perhaps confused about where he was due to his compromised vision (though his hearing still picked up the rattle of treats with no issue!).

Things came to a head this Saturday. Upon returning from the vigil Mass at Queen of Angels, I found him in the rectory hallway, apparently in the throes of a seizure - which looked to have been going on for some time before I got home. I gathered him up and held him for a couple minutes as I scrambled to figure out where I might be able to seek assistance. Happily, Peninsula Pet Emergency in Sequim was open and encouraged me to bring him in. It was there that they concluded that he had suffered neurological damage from the seizures (likely caused by a brain tumor) and would not recover. I held him for just a little while longer - with his seizures still going on despite the sedatives they had administered - and said goodbye as he received his final medication. He drew his final breaths in my arms.

Though the Church has no teachings one way or the other regarding the eternal disposition of animals, I hold out hope that Qwerty - along with all our beloved pets & animals - will be there to greet us among the saints & angels. For now, a cat-sized part of my heart is broken, filled instead with a bittersweet mixture of affection and loss. He was a good cat and I will miss him terribly, though he will be remembered fondly every time I sit in the rectory chapel before the Lord, Who I trust now holds him to His own heart, Qwerty purring contentedly in His arms.

(I am so grateful to the several parishioners who responded quite graciously and generously as I flailed about in my distress looking for recommendations for veterinarian services, driving me there, and accompanying me in the final arrangements & moments with Qwerty. It seems so little to offer in return, but with all my heart, thank you.)