On Thursday of last week, my wife took my daughter with her to the pet store to buy cat food. Naturally, the next day my wife brought home a kitten from the pet store that they had both seen the day prior and fallen love with, because that is how things happen. My wife had spent the better part of Thursday night asking me over and over if she could get this kitten, but I was resistant. Did we really need another cat? Would it get along with our current cat? What about my allergies? Is it too much of a commitment? I had a lot of questions and, if my vote had been the only vote, we would have not gotten that cat. But, alas, I am part of a democracy where I am voted down by my wife and two-year-old daughter when it comes to fuzzy kittens, so a kitten is what we got.
When I was at work Friday, I got a call from my wife. Instead of the usual “Hello,” that I’m accustomed to, I instead heard her trying to get my daughter to say what they had done. The only thing she would say was that she had named the cat “Daddy.” I went home at lunch to see this famed cat for myself, fairly certain that his charms would continue to elude me. One look into his shining eyes and I fell in love with him immediately. I hate it when my wife is right about everything.
On Friday and Saturday, we played with that cat as much as we could. We had to keep him contained to one room of the house, because we didn’t want to freak out our older cat, who we felt wouldn’t be as keen to sharing her house with another cat as we were. The kitten was a Siamese mix, with big blue eyes and a tiny meow. He was so gentle, my daughter could pick him up and he wouldn’t flinch or squirm or otherwise be all pointy like I assume all cats are naturally. Seeing the joy in that little girl’s eyes when she played with the kitten made me happier than I’ve been in a very long time, maybe ever. She was in love, and I was in love with seeing that love.
We spent most of the weekend trying to think of a name for our new cat. A good number of options were discussed, including Shadow, Chip, Boy Cat (my daughter’s preference), Doctor Who (my preference), Vincent, Tiny, Sweetie, and probably a bunch more that are lost down my memory hole. Nothing seemed quite right. You can’t be too careful when naming a cat, because it’s a name they’ll have forever and if you pick something lame, then you’re stuck with it. This was not a lame cat, and he named something good. Something I could call him when I wanted him to come sit on my lap in my chair in front of the TV when we were both old and grey. Something my wife could call for when they were playing in the back yard in the years to come. Something my daughter could call him while hugging him and holding him tight.
On Sunday, the kitty wasn’t feeling good. He was puking, which is not uncommon for a cat. He was such a sweet cat, though, that he made sure to never do it in his bed, rather trying to contain himself to the kitty litter. My wife set up a vet appointment for Monday to have him looked at. We were scared, but hopeful. That night, when we were getting my daughter to go to sleep, we determined that his name would be Eli. It felt right. That felt like it was his name, like a riddle we had unlocked. We looked into him and finally figured out what his name would be. Eli. Our daughter said it a few times and we determined that it was right. His name was Eli.
This morning, I woke up to my wife calling out to me. She was in the room, in tears, with Eli in her hands, and he was gone. He was still so small, and his eyes were still shining. My day for all of today has been those moments. Every time I close my eyes, I can see his little face still, and I feel like parts of me are breaking apart. Three days was all we had. Three days to let that cat into our hearts – Not nearly enough time to fully appreciate yet enough to break out hearts. My daughter is two, and now I haven’t any idea how to tell her how that cat is gone and not coming back, or why. Because I don’t know.
I’ve spent most of today thinking about how much things can change so much with so little effort, how I’m mourning a cat a week ago I didn’t even know existed. How something so small with so little time in such a contained world can still have such a profound effect. I didn’t want to love that cat, but I did. I do. I will. I wish I could change things, keep that kitten with my little girl forever. But he already is. I’m thankful.
Goodbye, Eli. Thank you for everything you gave us. I wish so much we could’ve given you more than three days and a name.
Bismarck resident Erik Hagen is the author of the SodBlog. Send emails to or visit his website at sodblog.com.
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Crap, Erik. Now I miss Eli, too. And I only got to see him on Facebook.