Jack Jack passed away in 2025 at 13 years old, after a life spent exactly how he wanted, on his own terms, with the people he chose. He wasn’t the friendliest to most, but to me and the few he trusted, he was everything. He was constant, comforting, and fiercely loyal in a way only he could be. He was deeply loved by me and the few others he carefully chose to let into his world, and that love was something rare, loyal, and unforgettable.

To most, Jack Jack was standoffish, quick to hiss, and proud to keep his distance. But to those he picked—his inner circle, he was tender, devoted, and full of affection in his own quiet way. He showed love not with grand gestures, but with slow blinks, head nudges, and the comforting weight of his little body curled beside you. He never let a quiet moment go by. He was the most talkative cat I’ve ever known, always ready with a meow, trill, or sass-filled reply that somehow said exactly what he meant. Now, the house feels so still without the sound of his voice. I keep listening for it.

He grew from a tiny kitten tucked close to my heart into a regal presence who ruled the household with both authority and grace. Whether he was lounging under the Christmas tree, sunbathing in the perfect warm spot, or silently watching the world go by, Jack Jack did everything on his terms—and we respected him for it.

He wasn’t for everyone, and he didn’t try to be. But for me, and for those he accepted, he was perfect.

Jack Jack leaves behind a home filled with memories, scratch marks, and a love that can’t be measured. His spirit was strong, his boundaries firm, and his bond with those he trusted—unbreakable.

Rest peacefully, Jack Jack. You were deeply cherished, completely yourself, and absolutely irreplaceable.

🖤