Dead Cat Walking

DEAD CAT WALKING

I’m 49 years of age.  Just recently turned...like a slab of ribs in the oven.  In the 49 years I’ve been on this earth – I’ve had a collection of pets.  My mother, being a science teacher and single mom of two boys, had to deal with the occasional hamster or guinea pig or cat or turtle or mouse or whatnot.  My first cat was Motorboat – named because he purred like a motorboat.  He lived for 17 years.  Moved from Pasadena, to Ballard, to Mountlake Terrace.  He got hit by a car when we lived in Ballard and drooled from then on out.

When Miriam and I got married the first thing we did when we returned from our honeymoon was go to PAWS and get a cat.  That lovely cat was Camille.  She lived to a grand old age of 15 or 16.

Near the end of Camille’s existence we got two more cats:  Eva and Abigail from the same litter.  Calico sisters.  Around this time we had Coco (who we lost to we think a coyote), and Junior – who we still have.

Lexi – manx calico with psychological issues joined us but when her backside went out and she could no longer walk we had to put her down.

Amongst the menagerie of cats we had two birds (Milo and Marlo), a turtle (Thurmond), two frogs (Prince and Charming) and a dog (Bear).

Our house has been filled, nearly from day one, with animals or children or both.  We have truly been blessed to be able to share our lives with these four legged creatures (and feathered creatures).  They add a layer to our lives that is hard to explain.  Anyone who has loved an animal knows what I’m talking about.  Anyone who has been affected by the purring, the snuggling, the “we love you” moments of dead mice on the front porch (or live rats brought in the house – thank you Motorboat and Junior) you know of what I speak.

But then there are those moments where the mortality of your animal becomes clear.  That’s where we are now.  A few months ago we  noticed that Eva was starting to lose weight.  She’s never been much of a large cat (not like her tubbo sister), but that something had shifted.  Something had changed and she started taking a turn.  Being the age of 13 or 14 this wasn’t too uncommon.  We did what we could in terms of changing her food, helping her, taking care of her.

As time went on she began to go downhill.  Slowly at first but more rapidly over the last week or two.  She spends her time now huddled in her “cat house” looking uncomfortable and not really sleeping.  There are moments, whether it’s the lack of food (she refuses to eat – but continues to drink), where she looks past us.  Don’t know if she’s in pain or just exhausted fighting whatever is going on in her system.  Do we take her to the vet?  Frankly we don’t have the money to pay for whatever might be wrong with her and, also frankly, we’ve always known that they’re cats...and she’s 14.  They’re not our “children.”  And just as we will someday shuffle off this mortal coil – so will they.

That doesn’t mean we don’t hurt.  But my hurt comes from wondering if Eva knows that her days are numbered.  A few weeks ago she was adamant about going outside.  She never ever EVER goes outside.  Her sister, Abigail loves to run outside if only to eat grass and puke it up later on our carpet.  But Eva – she was headed off towards the car port.  This was so unlike her I wondered if this was one of those National Geographic moments:   “The sickly lion, knowing that it will become a burden on the pride, leaves the pride to die...”  Could it be some instinctive DNA process that Eva was listening to?  Or...?

Tomorrow morning (Tuesday, October 15^th) will be the day.  She’s not eating.  She’s not sleeping.  From what we can tell...she is in pain.  On Saturday morning she threw up blood.  All things point to this being the launching pad to the great grassy warm field in the sky.  Does she know?  Do we know?

Eva has been a wonderfully sweet cat.  A lap-cat if there ever was one.  There wasn’t a morning when I would sit down to read the paper that Eva would jump up into my lap – sometimes irritating me in the process.  As irritating as she was, she was always loved.

The impact on our life has been incalculable.  She will be missed.  I don’t know if she knows that, we tell her all the time.

God speed, Eva.  God speed.