In Memory of Tyzer by Sara Jafari

Published in Issue 4

I think there is some societal shame in mourning pets, as though you’re somehow weak in being affected by their death, in missing them long after they’re gone. It’s not something I agree with, but it’s something I became conscious of, especially when writing this piece.

So close to putting the magazine together my beloved cat, Tyzer, passed away. He was very special to me so I knew I had to memorialise him in whatever way I could.

If you read Issue 3, ‘Narenji’ was most certainly inspired by Tyzer. He helped me feel less lonely when at sixteen my family suddenly uprooted and moved from Hull to Brighton. I didn’t have friends at college, and was deeply upset at having no social life in a city that felt so different from my hometown. But I felt comforted in having my feline companions waiting for me at home after a long day.

We got both my cats, Tyzer and Tyson, when I was nine years old. 17 years ago now. Our first cat, Tiggy, had just died at one year old, hit by a car outside of our house. That same week my granddad died, also hit by a car but in Tehran. When my mum and dad were in Tehran for my granddad’s funeral, my sister decided we all needed cheering up, so without consulting my parents we went to the RSPCA to get ourselves some kittens.

I don’t know who decided we would get not just one kitten, but two, but that’s what we did. I was allowed to choose one of them and my sister the other.

Picking Tyson was easy, he resembled our tabby cat recently deceased, and to be completely honest he was just very cute looking with a beautifully pink nose. He stayed in a fancy large cage with his brothers, sisters and mum. They were all, bar Tyson, reserved to be rehomed. My sister chose him, and my brother named him Tyson, after Mike Tyson, the boxer.

The RSPCA had two areas—one where we found Tyson, and the other Tyzer. Tyzer’s area was much more cramped and dark, with cages on top of each other. He was with his brothers and sisters, who like Tyson’s siblings were already reserved. Tyzer’s backstory was that someone had cruelly put him and his siblings in a bin bag in an outdoor bin, before they were found and rescued. As a result he was a lot more timid than Tyson, to begin with. I immediately warmed to him due to his bright orange fur, and his heart-breaking backstory, and wanted to bring him home.

Whilst I of course loved Tyson (who sadly passed away in Summer 2019), I had always had a strong bond with Tyzer. Generally, people found Tyson cuter, and perhaps that’s why I championed Tyzer even more.

Pets have such strong personalities, and I think that’s why it’s so frustrating when people don’t understand the pain and grieving process in losing a pet. When I told some people about Tyzer dying their response was, ‘Do you think you’ll get anther one?’ The question feels insulting in many ways. They aren’t just cats, but they’re family. Especially considering the fact that, apart from my immediate family, all my relatives live in Iran.

I could write forever about how strong, brave and friendly Tyzer was. He always had his tail high in the air, even when he was unwell. Our elderly neighbour in Hull would regularly feed him treats, and enquire about him when he didn’t see Tyzer around. When we first moved to Brighton he quickly made friends with the neighbours’ cats, and would roam around with them in the daytime.

In many ways Tyzer was like a dog. He loved people, was so inquisitive. He would follow my mum and dad outside when they went on their evening walks. And he often butted his head against my brother, sister and I, a sign to show he loved us, I like to think.

He was a good boy.

Three years ago he had pneumonia and almost died, but he recovered, despite the vet saying they wouldn’t blame us if we put him down. I’m so glad we didn’t. But his illness did result in him becoming gradually blind. And he handled it so well. He still happily sunbathed in the garden in summer, maintained his independence roaming around the house, just more slowly without his sight.

Towards the end of his life his health problems became too much, however, as earlier in the year he had another health scare in which again he was taken to the emergency vet. And then we were told his heart had failed him. The vet claimed it would be kinder to put him down, rather than him have a traumatic heart attack in the house, as they expected he would.

It came as a shock. We had just taken him to get his nails clipped in the morning, had plans to buy him a water fountain after his trip to the vet. I still feel guilty for not making his last moments special. I wish I could have given him the best treats, didn’t put him through getting his nails clipped, had been stronger for him and hadn’t cried so much as we put him to sleep.

I hope he’s in heaven with Tyson now, sunbathing, and they’re both eating all the tuna and milk their little hearts desire.

I can’t deny that his ailments the past few years didn’t bring me intense anxiety. I wanted so desperately for him to be well, to be like his younger self, for him to be happy. But that’s not how life works, I know. In accepting that it was his time to go, it feels a weight has been lifted, although it very much hurts.

I hope there is an afterlife, so we can have snuggles once more (and so, you know, death would seem 100% less terrifying). I hope he’s finally found peace.

So, perhaps this is not quite a goodbye to my little man, but a piece to remember him until we meet again.