An Empty Spot at the End of the Bed: RIP King Yaz
I’ve got a scratch on my arm that I don’t want to heal. Less than 12 hours ago I said goodbye to my best bud, my best friend, my cat Yaz. He was as old as me and my Wife’s relationship, and the three of us have been a killer Team over the best decade of my life. It’s cliché to say he was part of our Family, but it’s the ultimate truth. Living in Boston neither my Wife or I have Family close, and as a result we formed a tight bond between the three of us, and Yaz’s sudden passing is hitting hard in an Apartment that seems empty and riddled with ghosts.
Yaz was a true one of a kind, and is forever on the Honor Roll with the highest of marks. He had the kindest heart, and could sense whenever my Wife or I were upset or in a bad mood, and would do whatever he could to get us out of it. When I had to have surgery on my ACL and was house and bedridden for what seemed like an entire Summer, Yaz was forever by my side helping me heal emotionally. When my Mother passed away in 2007 he helped more than he realized to stop my tears and make me laugh. He was as loyal as any dog I’ve ever seen. He had the heart of a Lion.
Each day when I came home from work he’d be at the door meowing and I’d pick him up to hug him. If I was wearing a hat he’d rub his cheek against the brim to reciprocate the embrace while his emphatic purring (and sometimes drooling!) would drown out the din of the city, and the stress of life. We had a trick, Yaz and I, where he’d jump up on my back and climb to my shoulder. I’d then walk about our apartment like some mutant Black Beard with his Parrot Cat, entertaining our guests, and each other.
If we opened a can of tuna he couldn’t give three shits, but if we cut up a cantaloupe or were eating strawberries look the fuck out – for King Yaz would be on the prowl. Never in my life have I seen a cat that adored fruit so much. The only type of “human food” we ever let him eat, and as a result he earned one of his many nicknames, “Monkey”. Another nickname he had was “Shark Tail”. His tail was a large source of pride for King Yaz, who was suspected of being a Maine Coon mutt. His tail was always clean along with his hairy toes, and whenever he’d enter a room you’d see his prideful tail sticking strait in the air, bouncing with his step, peaking over coffee tables; a dorsal fin warning of his impending presence.
Yaz lived a great life and made my Wife and I so very happy. I’m trying to think positive and remember the good times and the happiness he afforded me, but it’s hard, and it’s sad. The finality of life and death is like a hammer to the thumb – pain is instant and overwhelming. Time will make things better – but won’t fix anything. I’ll never see my best bud again. I won’t be greeted at the door, won’t have a partner while listening to new records, won’t have a lovable lump in the nook of my arm while I fall asleep.
Instead there’s an empty spot at the end of the bed, and my feet are cold.
We love you Yaz, and will miss you forever.