A Tribute to Ajax

In late 2004, Fritz was returned to OAR after five years in a home.  He was subsequently diagnosed with a severe heart condition, but a wonderful young couple stepped forward to adopt him.  They renamed him Ajax in honor of his spirit. His medical bills were covered with the help of several generous OAR donors.  Sadly, last month, Ajax lost his battle with heart disease. In his memory and in memory of all the cats we have lost, we wanted to share the following excerpt from a eulogy written by his adopters.

In his tragically short life, Ajax managed to touch the lives of countless individuals. He was beloved by the good people at the Mt. Lookout Animal Hospital, the staff at O.A.R., and finally my wife and me. We can only wonder at why someone gave him up, but it certainly wasn’t a lack of love, because as everyone who met Ajax would tell you, he had an almost human quality about him. He had an uncanny ability to recognize human emotions, and during the most trying times of our undergraduate educations, early adult life, and young marriage, Ajax was always there selflessly offering his comfort. And his goodwill was not limited to humans: when we brought a feral kitten into our home and attempted to socialize him, it was Ajax who mothered him and taught him how to live as a pet, often taking time off from his own bath to clean his new friend, and comforting him during the long nights in his strange new home. Ajax was the kind of cat who met you at the door every day as you came in from work, and he rarely left your side when he could be with you. He could tell when you were sad, angry, or stressed, and knew exactly how to remedy your hardship. I am the owner of three other cats, and have had pet cats growing up, but never have I known any animal who could empathize like Ajax.

What was so amazing about his selflessness (and I will risk being criticized for assigning such human complexities and emotions to an animal because I do not believe they are exclusive to us, and Ajax exhibited them better than most humans I know), was that all the while he was so willing to give to others, he was struggling with a debilitating disease. We jokingly called him stubborn, but in reality he was the most determined individual I may have ever known. His will to live and spread love kept him alive far beyond his prognosis, and he taught us just how precious life is. It was as if, on those late nights, sitting in my lap while I was studying, he had actually read Dylan Thomas along with me: “Do not go gentle into that dark night…” He knew he still had a purpose, still had a life.

It sounds cliché, but when we were in that operating room today, and I felt Ajax go, a large part of me went with him. I can only hope that he left part of his strength and compassion in me. Such is often the case during the loss of a loved one, but the hole in my heart left by the loss of this incredible soul runs deep, and may take longer to heal than those of other friends and family I have seen go in my lifetime. Sometimes these wounds don’t ever heal, and that would be fine with me. After Ajax died, I heard it again from one of the vet techs; “He was lucky to have you guys.” Seeing him there, it hit me, how much I depended on, admired, and learned from this small animal. He taught me more about what it means to be human than all the Plato, Cicero, or Vergil I read as an undergraduate Classics major. I spent the last three years thinking I was being educated by the academy, but the whole time, Ajax had his own agenda. He showed me how to love and be there for the ones I love at all costs; that nothing is more important than family and yes, he was my family.

In the short time I had with Ajax he gave me so much, that the gesture my wife and I made by taking in this “unadoptable” cat has become infinitesimally small in comparison. When we adopted Ajax we thought we would be doing a good deed for a lonely and ailing kitty, but we were the lucky ones, and somehow, even though we all knew his death was imminent, and even though we gave him years beyond his original prognosis, his death still seems impossible to bear, and his short life, exceedingly tragic. He was my Brother, my Son, and my Friend, and I love him, the little cat whose heart was simply just too big.


Thank you so very much for everything,
Alex and Joie