After almost 12 years together, I said goodbye to J./James/Jaime/Razor/J-zor/Cesare today. He was old, had kidney disease, and suddenly couldn't even walk or eat his favorite tuna. So I decided it was time to euthanize him.

When I adopted him in January 1997, his name was Razor and his estimated age was 4-5 years old. I found him while writing an article for Time Out New York's "Free" issue. The piece, titled "Free Love," involved reviewing Manhattan's pet shelters. Well, I was shocked. So many pets with nowhere to go. At the worst of the lot, where dozens of animals were put to sleep every day due to overcrowding, I told the volunteer I was interviewing that I'd like to take a cat home. Since I'd become an expert on Manhattan's pet shelters, I figured I could at least save the cat I adopted from that East Harlem death camp and place him in one of the well-financed shelters on the Upper East Side with a no-kill policy.

My boyfriend at the time was a little surprised when I came home to our shared apartment with a cardboard box with air holes. The cat formerly known as Razor jumped out of the box and hid below the stove for half a day. When he finally emerged, we renamed him James and I fed him. He quickly became devoted to me and suspicious of my boyfriend, which suited me fine. As a freelancer at the time, I loved the daytime company. I pulled up another chair to my desk and dubbed him my co-pilot.

When I went back to an office job, I felt bad that J. was left home alone, but he managed to make at least one friend through two window panes. I know this because one day I found a note under my front door in old lady handwriting asking me to please remove my books from the window pane. The handsome tabby-Siamese mix, she noted, could not watch birds from his favorite spot because of my offending books. Of course, they were promptly removed.

J. weathered my breakups, new boyfriends, moving from the West Village to the Lower East Side… After all that we went through together, I think J. thought Ian, too, was temporary. Maybe he was abused by a man back when he was named Razor. I don’t know, but he’s never trusted Ian. Well, I married Ian anyway and we moved to Buenos Aires. James and I flew pet-friendly United, where he could sit with me in Coach. We arrived 3.5 years ago (as noted here).

But for Jaime the biggest change of his life happened September 21, 2006. J. quickly realized the bassinet was not for him, but for a smaller, hairless rival. As much as Ian irked him, Henry was just too much. But they learned to live together reasonably well because J. could always run faster and hide convincingly. J. even enjoyed Henry’s warmth while sleeping.

When I came back from the vet today crying, Henry jumped in my arms, hugged me and started crying a bit, too. Then he said, “Donald Duck?” and ran off. Since he’s only 2 years and 2 months old, I doubt Henry will have any lasting J. memories, but I’ll be able to show him photos like the trio below.