Eulogy for a furrball...
Jun. 28th, 2015 01:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
newnumber6Thanks to those who expressed their sympathies about the passing of one of my cats.
I meant to post this earlier, but things kept getting in the way. Well, not really, but more time kept getting away from me. I've been in a bit of a funk lately, and I don't think it was JUST my cat's passing, but it certainly didn't help.
But I wanted to say something, because he was something of a member of my family. I don't expect anyone else to read this. And maybe writing something will help clear up the block in my other writing. I'll refer to the cats by their initials, I don't know why, but I'm just naturally averse to using real names in this journal.
Although it didn't start that way. For the longest time, I never referred to G as my cat, just a cat that lived with me, or my roommates' cat, because my brother and his girlfriend had him when we all started to share an apartment. But he remained their cat... I generally didn't feed him or otherwise take care of him except on special occasions where they wouldn't be around to or occasionally giving him a fresh bowl of water. We got along, which, for a cat, means that G generally tolerated me occasionally petting or scritching him but otherwise he barely acknowledged my existence. He didn't seek me out, and sometimes we got in each other's way, but I liked him.
I always thought of him as an old cat. Not unhealthy, just old. Like a fifty-year-old who still gets a lot of exercise. This was right from when we first met... although, I later learned that he was much younger than I thought, and in fact he was only about 3-4 human years when I first met him. I attributed his standoffishness to his age, that he'd lived a long life without me being in it and so he wouldn't really think of me as part of my family. In actual fact I guess it was a little more like a teenage "You're not my real dad!" type thing.
A few years later, after we moved into a slightly larger apartment, we got another cat, D, a kitten, because a friend of the roomies. Since D grew up with me, we were a lot closer... he'd actually come to me (or, more often, roll around in front of me when he saw me) to get scritches, and I played with him more. I never forgot G, but I probably paid him less attention, he was just a fixture, and sometimes he was a bully, attacking D to show his dominance (or maybe D was just annoying, we rarely actually saw the attacks happen, just heard them). As D grew, the balance of power changed, G was getting older and some health issues made him lose a bunch of weight quickly, and although they still scrapped now and then, G usually fared worse, at one point G loosing a huge chunk of hair over a wound to his side that freaked us all out (but it looked worse than it was and just required some antibiotics and a vet visit, both of which I voluntarily paid for). He got better, but he was still getting on the old side and never completely regained his old weight.
I guess I naturally started being more sympathetic to G after that, seeing as how he was the underdog (undercat?), but it was still a sort of mutual coexistence combined with occasional pettings, or trying to calm him down when they got into an altercation that left him hissing. I still gave D a lot of attention too.
Our relationship changed again the summer before last, I think. Just a little. I was in the kitchen, getting water, and I saw him looking up at me, like he wanted something. And he did. It was a hot day, and I was in a bit too much of a rush (I was getting water during a commercial break) to spend the time and completely change the water on his bowl, which was reasonably fresh but perhaps a little warm, so I dropped a few ice cubes in it so that it would at least be cool again. Apparently I guessed right, that was exactly what he wanted, and I marveled a bit as he licked the water around the ice.
The pattern continued over the next few days, and often, he'd come down from his perch on the windowsil when he saw me in the kitchen, because he had finally decided I was good for something: I gave him ice. And it was ice he wanted, a change of water was good, but unless there were ice cubes in it, G would look up at me and wait and sometimes meow. G had a face that was designed for begging. D has more of a coy "oh look at me, aren't I cute" look. D also never got into ice... when there was ice in the bowl he'd just stare at it. I joked a couple times that G would look at a bowl of water with no ice and react like, "What, you expect me to drink this without ice? What am I, a savage?" whereas Deacon would look at a bowl with ice and react like, "WITCH!!!!!!".
To my surprise, this new role as designated ice-bearer continued even after summer, throughout the whole year, even in the middle of winter, G would beg me for ice (although of course, it's not like he really felt the winter being indoors). But it was nice to be wanted, and my affection for G grew, often petting him right after dropping ice in his bowl, and I started calling him 'buddy' regularly (which I also did for D, it's my go-to name-of-affection for animals, even ones I encounter out walking to work).
The next big change was when my brother and his gf broke up at the end of last summer, and she moved out and to another part of the province. Both cats were probably technically hers, and she called them her babies on many occasions, but she left them behind with a vague "maybe when things settle down I'll arranged them have them shipped" idea. Maybe it's best she never had kids.
So my brother and I shared taking care of the cats, me probably doing more than my fair share because I had the extra time (and it's at this point I started thinking of him as my cat... well, 'our cat', but with 'my' being a subset), and G, well, G was on a slow decline, but he still seemed generally happy and was always begging or stuff (and now that I was a person who sometimes fed him soft food, he turned that up and pretty much every time I entered the kitchen he would come stare at me in the hopes he could get something, although mostly he just got ice... you could tell that wasn't what he was there for because he'd meow afterwards and stare some more before finally going to lick the ice). But he was slow, and a little wobbly. Occasionally he would have trouble making the jump between the windowsil and the couch, so I made a little bridge for him out of a panel from of an old computer case. Sometimes, he'd look a little dazed and tremble a bit.
And the big one, he wasn't grooming himself as well as he used to. We tried to make up for it, but he was the kind of cat who'd claw at you if you invaded his personal space too much, so maybe we didn't do as much as we could. There was another sign, in retrospect... I think he was peeing a lot more. This is a sign of a lot of negative things for cats, like kidney failure and diabetes. The thing was, since I'd only started handling his litter in the last year, and with two cats contributing, I really had no good basis of comparison. I only know now because amount of litter has gone down by far more than a half... maybe even 3/4.
But, you know, even when you see signs, you hope for the best of things, and he was an old cat (I thought he was older than he was, I thought he was something like 17 or 18), so I thought he was just starting to feel it, that there was really nothing that anyone could do. And maybe it was the case, part of it, or all of it. We still don't know exactly what it was he died from. I sometimes think we could have done more, been more diligent or willing to spend the huge vet bill for what might wind up being nothing, and maybe given him a few more years, and sometimes I think that maybe it was for the best that it didn't get prolonged any more than it needed to be.
The end, though, came both shockingly fast and with plenty of warning. One day, it was like he couldn't use his back legs. He'd still come for food, but it was dragging himself across the floor, and he wouldn't climb up onto the couch. Occasionally he would walk or stand a very little bit, but it was knuckle walking and uncomfortable looking.
It was awkward because it was just about the weekend, and the vet couldn't see him anyway (maybe if it was an emergency, but he was still able to eat and get around a little so it didn't seem to qualify) We had a discussion about the stark reality that while we could take him to the vet that if this was an ongoing thing or a really serious issue, we probably couldn't afford to take care of him and that if we did take him to the vet, we might have to consider the option of putting him to sleep. My brother looked into it and we found another option: we could 'surrender' him to the humane society, and they'd take ownership and do an assessment, and if they felt treating him was an option, they'd handle it, and we wouldn't see him again, but at least he'd be cared for, and if they felt he wasn't going to have any significant quality of life again even with proper care, he'd be put to sleep which we'd have to do anyway. We did our best to make him comfortable giving him a little bed with water and food within easy head reach, and made an appointment for Wednesday. He died on Monday.
The weird thing was he bounced back on Friday night. After we made the appointment. Suddenly, he was walking around, maybe a tiny bit wobbly, but normally, and even went to his litter box on his own. I began to wonder if maybe he just had arthritis, because the weather was supposedly bad arthritis weather, and if it was the case, it might be something we could live with, make him comfortable and take care of him more on his bad days... or, if nothing else, that it increased the chances that the humane society might be able to do so and not put him to sleep. But we were hopeful.
Then on Sunday, he seemed to lose his ability to walk again, and even getting to an upright lounging position seemed to be an issue. There was still a little hope (because that weekend was also said to be bad for arthritis, but it would clear in a day or so) We fed him, both treats and regular food (we had extras so we could spoil him in the last few days if we had to give him up) and he still ate, but often out the sides of his mouth and sometimes we had to hand feed him, or hold him up to get water.
On Monday, he mostly just lay in one position on the floor, and didn't even seem interested in food. He didn't seem to be in any outward pain, he wasn't yowling or anything. I know that's not always the case that they make noise, but I'm choosing to believe he wasn't in pain, he was just steadily getting weaker and weaker. And we checked on him regularly, stroking him, offering him food in the hopes that this time he'd be interested, but it wasn't looking good. We hoped he might recover spontaneously again, and make it to the Wednesday appointment for a fuller diagnosis, but I at least had a feeling that the end was close no matter what. And, just after I took dinner out of the oven I walked past him on my way back to my room, I noticed he was very still, and he wasn't breathing, and he wouldn't blink when I moved my fingers near his eyes, and I had to tell my brother the bad news.
Pretty soon the tears started flowing, and after that, well, there was just handling the body. Luckily there was a box that was the right size nearby. The next day, we took him to the humane society and surrendered his body instead of him... no appointment was necessary in that case. They said that his age (15) was right about the average time that happens.
Just like I believe G wasn't in pain, I'm choosing to believe that, although we didn't witness the moment, it happened when he was aware of me, in the room getting dinner out of the oven and inevitably about to once again stroke him and see how he was doing, or maybe that D was around for that final moment, and so he didn't feel alone. And if those are just comforting lies, if nothing else, that at least he got to end his life at home, lying on a floor like he often did on his best days, instead of after a scared trip to the vet where he was among strangers, and that we didn't have to make the decision to end his life before his time, and that, whatever the case, he's not in pain NOW. It's a small mercy, but sometimes that's all you can get in these situations.
Every time I do dishes or get myself water, I look over and half-expect to see him staring up. And although I don't really believe in spirits or afterlife type theories, several times I've found myself dropping ice in the water bowl, even though D doesn't care for ice, just as a tribute.
Goodbye G. You won't be forgotten. We may not have gotten off on the best of terms, but you were a good cat. By which I mean demanding and convinced of your superiority, but, you know, in a cute way. :)
I meant to post this earlier, but things kept getting in the way. Well, not really, but more time kept getting away from me. I've been in a bit of a funk lately, and I don't think it was JUST my cat's passing, but it certainly didn't help.
But I wanted to say something, because he was something of a member of my family. I don't expect anyone else to read this. And maybe writing something will help clear up the block in my other writing. I'll refer to the cats by their initials, I don't know why, but I'm just naturally averse to using real names in this journal.
Although it didn't start that way. For the longest time, I never referred to G as my cat, just a cat that lived with me, or my roommates' cat, because my brother and his girlfriend had him when we all started to share an apartment. But he remained their cat... I generally didn't feed him or otherwise take care of him except on special occasions where they wouldn't be around to or occasionally giving him a fresh bowl of water. We got along, which, for a cat, means that G generally tolerated me occasionally petting or scritching him but otherwise he barely acknowledged my existence. He didn't seek me out, and sometimes we got in each other's way, but I liked him.
I always thought of him as an old cat. Not unhealthy, just old. Like a fifty-year-old who still gets a lot of exercise. This was right from when we first met... although, I later learned that he was much younger than I thought, and in fact he was only about 3-4 human years when I first met him. I attributed his standoffishness to his age, that he'd lived a long life without me being in it and so he wouldn't really think of me as part of my family. In actual fact I guess it was a little more like a teenage "You're not my real dad!" type thing.
A few years later, after we moved into a slightly larger apartment, we got another cat, D, a kitten, because a friend of the roomies. Since D grew up with me, we were a lot closer... he'd actually come to me (or, more often, roll around in front of me when he saw me) to get scritches, and I played with him more. I never forgot G, but I probably paid him less attention, he was just a fixture, and sometimes he was a bully, attacking D to show his dominance (or maybe D was just annoying, we rarely actually saw the attacks happen, just heard them). As D grew, the balance of power changed, G was getting older and some health issues made him lose a bunch of weight quickly, and although they still scrapped now and then, G usually fared worse, at one point G loosing a huge chunk of hair over a wound to his side that freaked us all out (but it looked worse than it was and just required some antibiotics and a vet visit, both of which I voluntarily paid for). He got better, but he was still getting on the old side and never completely regained his old weight.
I guess I naturally started being more sympathetic to G after that, seeing as how he was the underdog (undercat?), but it was still a sort of mutual coexistence combined with occasional pettings, or trying to calm him down when they got into an altercation that left him hissing. I still gave D a lot of attention too.
Our relationship changed again the summer before last, I think. Just a little. I was in the kitchen, getting water, and I saw him looking up at me, like he wanted something. And he did. It was a hot day, and I was in a bit too much of a rush (I was getting water during a commercial break) to spend the time and completely change the water on his bowl, which was reasonably fresh but perhaps a little warm, so I dropped a few ice cubes in it so that it would at least be cool again. Apparently I guessed right, that was exactly what he wanted, and I marveled a bit as he licked the water around the ice.
The pattern continued over the next few days, and often, he'd come down from his perch on the windowsil when he saw me in the kitchen, because he had finally decided I was good for something: I gave him ice. And it was ice he wanted, a change of water was good, but unless there were ice cubes in it, G would look up at me and wait and sometimes meow. G had a face that was designed for begging. D has more of a coy "oh look at me, aren't I cute" look. D also never got into ice... when there was ice in the bowl he'd just stare at it. I joked a couple times that G would look at a bowl of water with no ice and react like, "What, you expect me to drink this without ice? What am I, a savage?" whereas Deacon would look at a bowl with ice and react like, "WITCH!!!!!!".
To my surprise, this new role as designated ice-bearer continued even after summer, throughout the whole year, even in the middle of winter, G would beg me for ice (although of course, it's not like he really felt the winter being indoors). But it was nice to be wanted, and my affection for G grew, often petting him right after dropping ice in his bowl, and I started calling him 'buddy' regularly (which I also did for D, it's my go-to name-of-affection for animals, even ones I encounter out walking to work).
The next big change was when my brother and his gf broke up at the end of last summer, and she moved out and to another part of the province. Both cats were probably technically hers, and she called them her babies on many occasions, but she left them behind with a vague "maybe when things settle down I'll arranged them have them shipped" idea. Maybe it's best she never had kids.
So my brother and I shared taking care of the cats, me probably doing more than my fair share because I had the extra time (and it's at this point I started thinking of him as my cat... well, 'our cat', but with 'my' being a subset), and G, well, G was on a slow decline, but he still seemed generally happy and was always begging or stuff (and now that I was a person who sometimes fed him soft food, he turned that up and pretty much every time I entered the kitchen he would come stare at me in the hopes he could get something, although mostly he just got ice... you could tell that wasn't what he was there for because he'd meow afterwards and stare some more before finally going to lick the ice). But he was slow, and a little wobbly. Occasionally he would have trouble making the jump between the windowsil and the couch, so I made a little bridge for him out of a panel from of an old computer case. Sometimes, he'd look a little dazed and tremble a bit.
And the big one, he wasn't grooming himself as well as he used to. We tried to make up for it, but he was the kind of cat who'd claw at you if you invaded his personal space too much, so maybe we didn't do as much as we could. There was another sign, in retrospect... I think he was peeing a lot more. This is a sign of a lot of negative things for cats, like kidney failure and diabetes. The thing was, since I'd only started handling his litter in the last year, and with two cats contributing, I really had no good basis of comparison. I only know now because amount of litter has gone down by far more than a half... maybe even 3/4.
But, you know, even when you see signs, you hope for the best of things, and he was an old cat (I thought he was older than he was, I thought he was something like 17 or 18), so I thought he was just starting to feel it, that there was really nothing that anyone could do. And maybe it was the case, part of it, or all of it. We still don't know exactly what it was he died from. I sometimes think we could have done more, been more diligent or willing to spend the huge vet bill for what might wind up being nothing, and maybe given him a few more years, and sometimes I think that maybe it was for the best that it didn't get prolonged any more than it needed to be.
The end, though, came both shockingly fast and with plenty of warning. One day, it was like he couldn't use his back legs. He'd still come for food, but it was dragging himself across the floor, and he wouldn't climb up onto the couch. Occasionally he would walk or stand a very little bit, but it was knuckle walking and uncomfortable looking.
It was awkward because it was just about the weekend, and the vet couldn't see him anyway (maybe if it was an emergency, but he was still able to eat and get around a little so it didn't seem to qualify) We had a discussion about the stark reality that while we could take him to the vet that if this was an ongoing thing or a really serious issue, we probably couldn't afford to take care of him and that if we did take him to the vet, we might have to consider the option of putting him to sleep. My brother looked into it and we found another option: we could 'surrender' him to the humane society, and they'd take ownership and do an assessment, and if they felt treating him was an option, they'd handle it, and we wouldn't see him again, but at least he'd be cared for, and if they felt he wasn't going to have any significant quality of life again even with proper care, he'd be put to sleep which we'd have to do anyway. We did our best to make him comfortable giving him a little bed with water and food within easy head reach, and made an appointment for Wednesday. He died on Monday.
The weird thing was he bounced back on Friday night. After we made the appointment. Suddenly, he was walking around, maybe a tiny bit wobbly, but normally, and even went to his litter box on his own. I began to wonder if maybe he just had arthritis, because the weather was supposedly bad arthritis weather, and if it was the case, it might be something we could live with, make him comfortable and take care of him more on his bad days... or, if nothing else, that it increased the chances that the humane society might be able to do so and not put him to sleep. But we were hopeful.
Then on Sunday, he seemed to lose his ability to walk again, and even getting to an upright lounging position seemed to be an issue. There was still a little hope (because that weekend was also said to be bad for arthritis, but it would clear in a day or so) We fed him, both treats and regular food (we had extras so we could spoil him in the last few days if we had to give him up) and he still ate, but often out the sides of his mouth and sometimes we had to hand feed him, or hold him up to get water.
On Monday, he mostly just lay in one position on the floor, and didn't even seem interested in food. He didn't seem to be in any outward pain, he wasn't yowling or anything. I know that's not always the case that they make noise, but I'm choosing to believe he wasn't in pain, he was just steadily getting weaker and weaker. And we checked on him regularly, stroking him, offering him food in the hopes that this time he'd be interested, but it wasn't looking good. We hoped he might recover spontaneously again, and make it to the Wednesday appointment for a fuller diagnosis, but I at least had a feeling that the end was close no matter what. And, just after I took dinner out of the oven I walked past him on my way back to my room, I noticed he was very still, and he wasn't breathing, and he wouldn't blink when I moved my fingers near his eyes, and I had to tell my brother the bad news.
Pretty soon the tears started flowing, and after that, well, there was just handling the body. Luckily there was a box that was the right size nearby. The next day, we took him to the humane society and surrendered his body instead of him... no appointment was necessary in that case. They said that his age (15) was right about the average time that happens.
Just like I believe G wasn't in pain, I'm choosing to believe that, although we didn't witness the moment, it happened when he was aware of me, in the room getting dinner out of the oven and inevitably about to once again stroke him and see how he was doing, or maybe that D was around for that final moment, and so he didn't feel alone. And if those are just comforting lies, if nothing else, that at least he got to end his life at home, lying on a floor like he often did on his best days, instead of after a scared trip to the vet where he was among strangers, and that we didn't have to make the decision to end his life before his time, and that, whatever the case, he's not in pain NOW. It's a small mercy, but sometimes that's all you can get in these situations.
Every time I do dishes or get myself water, I look over and half-expect to see him staring up. And although I don't really believe in spirits or afterlife type theories, several times I've found myself dropping ice in the water bowl, even though D doesn't care for ice, just as a tribute.
Goodbye G. You won't be forgotten. We may not have gotten off on the best of terms, but you were a good cat. By which I mean demanding and convinced of your superiority, but, you know, in a cute way. :)
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Date: 2015-06-28 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-06-30 05:35 pm (UTC)