The pet I’ll never forget: Harvey, the most human of cats who helped me through grief and illness | Cats

Harvey came into our lives during a year of loss. It was 2004, and my grandmother had just died, quickly followed by our beloved cat Skeet (Manx English for “nosy”). With the family plunged into mourning, the house became eerily quiet and still, and my mother was in mourning.

I was only 11 and didn’t know how to take care of her, but I knew we needed the chaos and joy of a new cat. We found Harvey at the local Isle of Man cattery: he was sitting at the bottom of his enclosure, looking at us curiously with huge owl eyes. My mother smiled for the first time in months. We knew he was the cat for us.

Harvey settled in quickly and we loved him. He was loved because he was so human – he used doorknobs to get in, concocted plans to steal catnip from the kitchen cupboard, and meowed in a broken “mah-ow” that sounded suspiciously like “hello.” But most of all, he was loved because he clearly loved us in return. When he found one of us upset, he would instinctively sit nearby and purr, his calm weight anchoring us to the world.

As I reached my late teens, I started getting sick. Shortly after starting sixth grade, I was stressed and unhappy with new pressures and fluctuating friend groups. I started feeling nauseous in the morning, and quickly started feeling sick every day before school, and then stopped being able to eat.

The doctors found nothing wrong with me. An endoscopy, a colonoscopy, a barium meal x-ray and several tests later, my nausea was still a mystery to them. My weight became dangerously underweight and I was put on a feeding tube.

I spent a lot of time in bed, holding my stomach and trying not to be sick. I sank into solitude like water – until Harvey began his daily visits to my room. He would push the door with his nose, walk in circles for a moment like a doctor making his rounds, then jump onto the bed next to me and curl up next to my aching stomach.

He became my constant companion, my little shadow, and even after I accidentally kicked him while rushing out of bed to be sick, he stayed firmly in place. Sometimes he kneaded my stomach as if he were trying his best to heal me, his paws digging into my tender muscles as if I were his kitten. He was an exceptional cat.

After several months and new medications, I started to get better. I eventually went to college while Harvey stayed with my parents until he had a sudden stroke and had to be put to sleep. He loved me with the patience of cats and taught me what it means to care for someone without expectations. I can only hope we gave him the same.