Just like Jack

 

Karma

We recently returned from an 8-month road trip around America in our camper van. We logged 30 states, 2 countries (we drove to the tip of the Baja peninsula and back), and 16 National Parks/Monuments.

We returned home to Maine on June 15, or Day 257 of our trip. On June 7, while we were in Michigan, I received word that my cat, Karma, was not doing well and in fact he died later that day.

The first thing that struck me was that the same thing happened to Jack Kerouac while he was on the road. As he reports in Big Sur (he had been hitchhiking from Monsanto's -- Lawrence Ferlinghetti -- cabin in Big Sur back to San Francisco and said it was "The last time I ever hitch hiked--And NO RIDES a sign):

THE NEXT SIGN IS IN FRISCO ITSELF where after a night of perfect sleep in an old skid row hotel room I go to see Monsanto at his City Lights bookstore and he's smiling and glad to see me, says "We were coming out to see you next weekend you should have waited," but there's something else in his expression--When we're alone he says "Your mother wrote and said your cat is dead." 

Ordinarily the death of a cat means little to most men, a lot to fewer men, but to me, and that cat, it was exactly and no lie and sincerely like the death of my little brother--I loved Tyke with all my heart, he was my baby who as a kitten just slept in the palm of my hand with his little head hanging down, or just purring, for hours, just as long as I held him that way, walking or sitting--He was like a floppy fur wrap around my wrist, I just twist him around my wrist or drape him and he just purred and purred and even when he got big I still held him that way, I could even hold this big cat in both hands with my arms outstretched right over my head and he'd just purr, he had complete confidence in me-- (Big Sur, 1981, Penguin Books, pp. 48-50)

Jack goes on to retell the content of the letter from his mother telling about Tyke dying.

It's just about too much to bear, being gone like I was. My great friend died and I wasn't there for him.

Another great friend of mine, Richard Marsh, had a similar relationship with his cat, Mr. Pooh W. Bah. And he knows the pain I'm in. I'm typing this through tears of grief.

RIP, Karma (2004-2023)