Around 6 or 7 years ago my wife (then girlfriend) and I moved into a small apartment in Baltimore so that she could finish school. Part of that move meant bringing along her orange cat, Helo, to live with us. Now, I had lived with her and Helo at her parents’ place prior to this but I didn’t get to spend much time around Helo because he spent most of his time around his grandpa and apparently didn’t feel the need to get to know me. But now he had no choice.
The first week after we brought him into the apartment he spent the entire day under the bed. He’d pop out at night when he thought nobody was watching to get food, water, and to use the litter box. As far as he was concerned he was bunkered down in enemy territory requisitioning supplies and using the easiest spot in the area to dig a latrine during gaps in the enemy’s nighttime surveillance. Slowly but surely, however, he started venturing out to scout out the place. I gave him space and let him become comfortable on his own time table, but I was really looking forward to finally winning him over and getting some affection from the guy. Eventually he popped up next to me on the couch and nuzzled into my arm while I was playing something on my PlayStation. So I paused my game and gave him as much affection as he would let me before he trotted off.
After a few weeks he was spending plenty of time lounging around me on the couch. Adjacent, but leaving some space. I really loved it. I felt pretty isolated in that apartment. I was alone most of the day while my girlfriend was in school. I couldn’t work or go to school myself. I didn’t have friends in the area. I needed his companionship. And whether he knew it or not, he was very good at being there when I needed him. But there was one barrier that kept keeping him from being truly comfortable with me. My mouth.
I, for lack of a better term, am obnoxiously loud. There are various factors as to why that is but the truth of it is that I have a very hard time controlling my volume. So moving into an apartment as a League of Legends and Rainbow Six Siege player was a dangerous prospect as it is. Luckily, the building we moved into had thick concrete walls and floors that seemed to be made of unobtanium. That didn’t make Helo any more comfortable. So when nighttime came around and I booted up whatever it was I wanted to yell at that night, he typically hid away. At least at first. Over time, likely because I was also all HE had, he grew to understand that I was loud, not dangerous. And with that he started joining me in my gaming sessions in a way.
If I was grinding solo queue in League or desperately, pathetically trying to improve my aim and flicking skills in Siege I had Helo in my lap to keep myself from blowing up as hard. I had a friend to vent to and cuddle up with when I get annihilated and feel helpless and furious. I could seethe and scream at the TV when dying to Sword Saint Isshin over and over for a week (true story) in Sekiro then turn to my buddy and pet him. It centered me. He was my little buddy. I was his dad.
Things have changed over the years. He had spent less time around me since we moved back to my hometown into a bigger home. Eventually he moved into our dear friends’ house because they were able to take care of him in his older age far better than we were able to, and we spend all our time over there anyway. Pretty much every time I went over to their place he would peak his head out and greet me or even walk over and demand attention. Nothing changed how much we loved each other.
Helo passed away yesterday. It was his time. He was old and he led a very good, happy life. Spoiled rotten every single day of it. Helo was my friend. He helped center me when I didn’t know how badly I needed it. He was an unwanted alarm clock at 4:30 every morning. He gave me immense love and affection in exchange for nothing but food, water, and latrine duty. He gave us fabulous excuses to buy new glasses and dishes when he obliterated them. He was the best. He was a bastard. He was our little man.
In lieu of the typical, “Sorry for your loss,” comments and whatnot please just hug your pets. I appreciate your care but those sentiments aren’t what I need right now. I just wanted to share a bit of my story with one of my best friends now that he’s moved on. So whether it’s a St. Bernard, a snake, or a fish, hug your pet. Don’t fight me on this. I demand it.
Ethan Rodgers
T w e n t y S i d e d
