It was a clear night in the summer of 2007. I forget why, but I was driving myself back to Jen’s family’s apartment after visiting my folks. I walked up the stairs and into the apartment, greeting my mother-in-law and asking where Jen was. Not long after I finished my sentence, Jen and her brother Jon rushed in. Jen was wearing a top with a cowl-like neck and she was holding something in that cowl. Turned out that while out with her brother, she found a little black kitten hiding beside the wheel of a trailer.
Jen would name that flea-ridden rescue kitten Eris, after the Goddess of Discord. On Sunday the 14th, 18 years removed from that fateful night, we watched as she crossed the proverbial Rainbow Bridge, her health declining rapidly after being hit by what we suspected to be liver cancer.
Eris was the youngest and the smallest of what we see as the “first generation” of our cats, starting with Jen’s childhood cat Chocolate and including Ravyn, Willow, and Naida. Jen would wish for all of our cats to stay small, and Eris was apparently the only one who listened. Luther, our pandemic cat, would outgrow Eris after 6 months. So, she was always our baby.
She was also always special. She lived a life scared of everything. I would joke that she saw me as a completely different being when I was sitting down versus when I stood up. Moving apartments or taking her to the vet would be military-style operations, with strict setup and execution patterns. But they never worked, because as we would realize, she was a vibe detector. She was always “sus.”
But despite her behavior depending on whether we were standing up or sitting down, Jen and I were the only two people she trusted for the majority of her life. Seeing Eris during any family or friend function would be a miracle until she started coming out on her own within the past few years. In turn, seeing Eris comfortable always garnered an outsized reaction—whether that was on a warm bed, a tall cat tree, or my jeans.
My fondest memories of Eris are of when she’d sit beside me or lay her head on my jeans while I gamed. She started doing that in 2008 during my Halo 3 days, with the most vivid memory being her rushing to my side when I sat down to play Animal Crossing on our couch during the pandemic. Even in the extreme pain and discomfort she must’ve been feeling, she would come sit on me while I played Octopath Traveler 0 last week. I chose not to stream that game, opting to instead play it on the couch. What I’d never realize is that it would be some of the final memories I’d have of her.
Since losing Chocolate in 2017, Willow in 2023, and Ravyn just earlier this year, we knew our first generation had limited time left, and while we’re better prepared to notice and react to dire situations, it does nothing to prepare your emotions. If you’ve been close enough to what has been going on in and around my family this year, you’ll realize how much more this hurts.
We love you Eris. We will miss you forever, and we hope that you’ve found your siblings on the other side.