T J BROTHERMAN DEAD.
Unpublished obituary
written by Gerard Wynstanley
to The Washington Post,
May 7, 2007.

On Sunday, May 6, T J Brotherman, considered by some to be the world’s most accomplished cat, died at the age of nearly 17. A life long resident of New York, T J, as he was known by an admiring public, grew to prominence because of his uncanny ability—despite humble feline roots—to gain recognition as an influential humanist in a world dominated by irresponsible men. Born on the Upper Westside of Manhattan in 1970, T J remained a resident of the neighborhood throughout his life, though the exact location of his residence is an issue of considerable debate among Brotherman scholars. Regardless of his public fame, he lived reclusively and little is known about his personal life beyond that described in brief portions of his written work. The cause of death, according to his doctor was complications from cancer.

He was working on an autobiography, tentatively entitled T J’s Story, when he expired. Though never completed, his eloquence and sensitivity—particularly to human children, for whom he was writing his book—are evident in this edited excerpt from the unfinished manuscript of his memoir:

My name is TJ. I live way up high in an apartment in New York City and I’m 16 years old. I have two humans. I named one of them Snuffy and the other one Lola. They are both much, much older than me…

About six years ago, when I was ten, something strange started happening to me. I had always been a happy and healthy cat but suddenly that began to change. I lost my appetite and stopped eating my food.

I was very, very thirsty all the time. I couldn’t stop drinking water. One, two, three, four bowls a day. I had the worst diarrhea and my cat box started smelling really terrrrrible. Much worse than usual. I could barely move around. I was so tired.

Snuffy decided to take me to my personal physician.

For a while the doctor was stumped. She knew I was sick but didn’t know what was wrong. They tried all kinds of pills, which I hated swallowing. I’m mortified to admit that this was the only time I ever physically injured other living beings—fighting off the pills.

Meanwhile, I kept getting sicker and sicker. Snuffy and Lola were really worried. They thought my end was near.

Then, Snuffy got a telephone call from the doctor. She had an idea! She asked him to bring me to her office so I could stay overnight for some tests.

This was fine with Snuffy and Lola. They wanted me to get better and I guess it upset them that my cat box was starting to stink up the whole house.

After my overnight, the doctor shouted “Eureka! I know what’s wrong. TJ has diabetes.” It turns out that many cats get diabetes because of the sugar in regular cat food.

She called Snuffy and told him that I was a diabetic, and that with a special diet and medicine I could live a happy and healthy life. I started eating cat food that was good for me. At first I didn’t like the taste so much, but I started feeling better.

I also needed to get two shots of insulin each day, one in the morning and one in the evening. Six years later, I’m pleased to report that I’m a happy, healthy cat. I’m in a very good mood. And the insulin shots have made my life worth living again.

At first I was scared of the shots. Nobody likes shots. But now I kind of look forward to them. Twice a day, Snuffy turns my insulin shot into a fun thing.

When it’s time for a shot, I know it because Snuffy shakes a bottle full of treats. I love ‘em and hop up on my hind feet so he can put them in my mouth.

After two or three treats, he moves to the next step. He takes the insulin out of the refrigerator, where we keep it, and gets a fresh needle and an alcohol swab. He cleans the top of the insulin bottle with the swab and then rolls the bottle back and forth to mix the medicine up. The bottle makes a great clicking noise as it passes over his finger rings. I love that sound.

I wait patiently while Snuffy does this and, when it’s time, I roll over on my side so he can give me a shot. He’s gotten very good at it and I hardly feel anything. After he’s done, he clips the needle and throws out the rest and gives me more treats.

Needles can be scary for cats and kids, but they’re not really so bad and you get a treat, or a lollipop as a reward for being good. Another reward is that I feel really good, and every summer, Lola and Snuffy and I go to the ocean.

Though T J never had children of his own, sources say that he leaves a legion of family and friends. A public celebration of his life will be announced in the near future.

EDITOR’S NOTE:
While we found this unpublished obituary both fascinating and instructive regarding the sentient nature of animals, many of the facts stated were unverifiable, in part because we are unaware of “Snuffy” and “Lola’s” human names. Mr. Wynstanley tells us that an editor who wishes to remain anonymous provided him with the manuscript.

There is talk that Nora, the famed piano-playing cat, maintained a long-term relationship with TJ, though the affair not mentioned his memoir or in the obit above. It is said that David Nasaw, presently working on the official bio of TJ, has uncovered some material regarding this, though all that we know of Nora is a short concert performed by her in which TJ is off screen.