This is Gambit

2012-2024

This is Gambit. He was abandoned outside of a restaurant in my college town twelve years ago. He survived off of french fries until my friend called me and asked "Do you want a cat?"

The answer should have been no. I lived in an apartment that didn't allow pets. But the question was, did I WANT a cat. And the answer was a resounding yes.

This is Gambit. My first night with him was one of terror. He was so small, and I was certain I would accidentally roll over and crush him if he climbed up in bed with me. That never happened.

Instead, our morning routine was established quickly. He would be across the room, waiting for me to wake up, and I would open my eyes to see the sun glowing through his mass of fur. I would stretch out my arm, motioning with my hand like I was scratching his head, and he would jump up for his first pets of the day.

This is Gambit. Throughout my last year of college, he was the one constant I could count on. I was depressed and suicidal and I didn't have any hope for my own future, but I had him.

On the nights when I would disappear, leaving my phone behind in hopes of getting lost and into an accident, I would turn around and drive home because I knew I had to take care of him.

This is Gambit. He moved all the way from Fairmont, West Virginia to Austin, Texas and become the annoying little brother to Cody's beloved boy, Razu. Their relationship was founded on one singular slap across the face as Raz established his boundaries and Gambit immediately pined for the love and respect of this cool, standoffish older cat.

When we had to say goodbye to Raz in 2016, Gambit cried out into the night, searching for his friend. That's when a new nightly routine started. Unable to find Raz, he would climb into our bed, over top of my hip, and then lay across Cody's side as we spooned. Together, the three of us grieved the loss of our best friend.

This is Gambit. He didn't like his new brother Reno right away. He hated him, actually. The grumpy, standoffish attitude of his big brother was now his to claim.

But it was impossible to keep because when Reno tried to jump on top of the windowsill looking into our kitchen, he fell flat on his ass in front of Gambit, and suddenly, this new brother was too much of a loser to bully.

This is Gambit. He loved freshly vacuumed carpet and laying on suitcases and playing with straws. He loved canned salmon and catnip and eating his own fur. He had a million anxieties and hated company, especially other cats, except for Razu, who he wanted to be with forever, and eventually, Reno, who he begrudgingly grew to love.

This is Gambit. His favorite activities included rolling around on his back, especially on a clean floor, and perching on top of anything and everything like a gargoyle. He should have been named Goliath, but I never dreamed he would become the massive haul of a cat that he grew to be.

This is Gambit. He hated being groomed or brushed, so he would have to get the occasional bath or shave, which he hated more until he got to lay around on a clean floor and feel it more directly on his skin.

This is Gambit. More than anything, he hated being away from me or not knowing where I was. I could always count on him demanding a cuddle from me as soon as I'd get home from work. When I got ready for bed, he would be at my feet waiting impatiently for me to finish brushing my teeth so he could get his bedtime pets. He wasn't quite my shadow, but we had our routines and any interruption to them was sure to sour his mood.

This is Gambit. He will forever be my baby boy.

Goodbyes are never fair. I never wanted to let you go. You deserved a full life of love and health and happiness, and I feel like I fell so short. I hope you know how much I loved you, how I'll never stop. I hope you felt loved. I hope you loved your life, even among all the things you hated.

And I hope Raz is there when you cross, ready to slap you across the face and mark the start of your next life together however it may look.