Nila Priyambodo
Managing Editor

I recently lost someone close to my heart. I was so close to him that you can even call him my brother and a part of my family.

It has been a month now since my cat, Gendut (which means “fat cat” in Indonesian) died. Gendut, a long-haired beige colored Persian/Himalayan cat, was

exactly one month short of turning 18. I haven’t been ready to talk about his death, but I think I am finally ready.

One night I came home from my Advanced News Reporting class, which ended at 7:30 p.m., and I found my mom upset and crying. I asked her what happened and found out that Gendut died in his sleep. The only thing I regret is that I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye, to thank him for the great years we had together or to tell him I love him. I guess this column is my chance to do this.

The days after his death were especially hard because everything in the house reminded me of him.

Every time I passed by his favorite sleeping spot or where he ate, I would expect him to be there and when I wouldn’t see him, my heart would ache. Sometimes I can still even hear his meows and the bell on his collar.

I know I am not supposed to play favorites with my five cats, but I have to admit Gendut, also known as the “The King,” was always my favorite.

When I would procrastinate on my homework, he would sit on my lap and not let me move until I did it. He also loved getting his picture taken. Any time he would see someone with a camera, he would pose for them.

We even had our own sign of affection. I like to call it the “bunny nose.” When I came home from school, he would be there waiting for me to rub my nose against his.

My sister and I also called him the Lakers mascot because anytime he would be watching a basketball game with us, the Lakers would always win.

Gendut also loved the band, Linkin Park. When my mom and I would put him in the carrier to take him to the vet or the cat salon and grooming place, he would not stop meowing because he hated the car trip. But as soon as he heard Linkin Park on the radio, he would stop meowing and forget that he was in a car.

Some of you might even remember Gendut as the cat in the Graphic Productions class ad.

Many of you reading this right now might think that I’m crazy for writing this column or having this much love for a pet, but I never saw him as a cat.

I always saw him as a little brother. A little brother I always spoiled with expensive foods and treats, collars and, most importantly, with my love.

My four other cats have been great throughout the grieving process. Some of them have even tried to comfort me by doing the things Gendut used to do.

For instance, Gendut was the only cat that would sleep on my stomach. Ever since Gendut died my other cats, Siaming (a Siamese/Burming mix) and Nala (a tabby), would sleep on my stomach. Siaming has also become my homework monitor, sitting on my lap until I finish my homework.

But, as much as my other cats try to do what Gendut did, no cat can ever replace him.

Gendut, be good up there in cat heaven. Don’t get into fights with other cats and don’t overdo it with the cat treats or the Fancy Feast.

I will miss you.

Nila Priyambodo, a sophomore journalism major, is managing editor of the Campus Times. She can be reached by e-mail at npriyambodo@ulv.edu.