Katie, the cat, is dying. She has had a long full life with highs and lows. She has caught birds and incurred injuries. She has acquired neighborhood friends and adversaries both human and animal and survived social disruptions caused by both humans and animals. She was a Christmas gift to my now 20 year old daughter when she was five. The grande dame, she was the first of a series of animal additions to the family.
It is a suicide of sorts. Advanced age has slowed her appreciably and then weeks ago a fuse in her cat brain blew and she stopped eating. She is not sick doesn't complain and has no pain but is wasting away. I do what I can to entice her to take any nourishment. Once in a while she will take a bite of something novel but interest quickly wanes and doesn't return. She has given up. If she is okay with it I must be. I am losing a family member and am sad but resigned.
For most of her life she was an adventurous outside cat, we often observed her quite far a field. Easy to spot because of her glowing white coat, which is sandwiched between gray ears and a gray striped tabby tail. More recently she chose the safety of the house seldom venturing out and then only to the familiar confines of the backyard.
When the end nears, a life examination is in order. Katie is spending more time in the wild or at the neighbors smoozing with some of her old buddies. As before, she follows me into the bathroom and talks to me from the mat as I shower. She seems to be reverting to familiar behaviors from her youth.
My crazy neighbor Valerie is one of Katie's friends and comments to me she has been seeing a lot of her recently adding, "she doesn't look too good". I tell her the above story. She is genuinely concerned and upset and relates stories of the death of other cats she has known then gives suggestions for enticing her to eat. Nothing I haven't tried but I tell her I will do as she suggests and thank her for her concern.
Glancing out the large picture window in my studio that overlooks the front yard, I notice Valerie scoot by on this Saturday afternoon, eyes straight ahead, on a mission. A couple of minutes later she passes again going back. I sneak a peek on the front porch and find she has left a paper plate with chunks of turkey and dry cat food next to my front door. I've been burnt in the past by folks being psychotic around me so I'm concerned.
The madness continues, she makes several more trips during the course of the day. In the end there are two plates of food on one side of the door and a little pallet made from some coarse material on the other. It looks like a shrine with sacrifices being offered to placate the reaper. Katie's not interested.
I head out to work Monday morning and the shrine has disappeared, an after dark operation it seems. A good thing I think. Perhaps Valerie has come to terms with Katie’s impending demise and is willing to let her go.
I arrive home for lunch Tuesday. Taped to the front door handle is a 3X5 piece of stationary, pale blue with a subtle cloud motif background, printed across the bottom is the bible quote, "To everything there is a season / A time for every purpose under heaven." The hand writing fills both sides, there are a couple of arrows and the margins are written in vertically—it reads:
Hi Tom, (A happy face)
Would you please let Katie Kitty in your house or take her in to be put down? It breaks my heart to see he starve to death + suffer. She has been hanging in my front flowerbed dirt over here for 4 four days now. So I know she's not been home. If you like I'll help pay for her to go to heaven. It's really kind of inhumane to neglect her. I know it must be hard for you two. But how does Katie feel?
Thanks, Val (small happy face).
(Around the margin) she only ate a couple of bites of turkey so far.
Oh my. I've been called some terrible things but this is the first time for inhumane. I fear for the cat's life, perhaps Val has taken the initiative and sent her to heaven. I am relieved to find Katie inside.
I can refute, defend or lecture but the most valuable lesson I have leaned in years of therapy is that there is no making sense of crazy. I refuse to let Valerie dictate how the end will be for Katie. So it seems the best course of action is to ignore, lie low and hope the storm subsides or Katie dies naturally.
The following weekend, my seventeen year old son and I are printing on the back porch when a tearful frantic Valerie bursts upon us with the news that Katie is lying on the side of the house with flies buzzing about. She doesn't want to get too close and be the one to make the grim discovery.
Sure enough, dead, not long, she is neither cold nor stiff. My son insists he bury her. He is upset and holding back tears as he hurries to find the shovel and an appropriate resting place. The task gives him something to do, it is a guy thing. His life has made him a Stoic, I am pleased to see a demonstration of emotion. We all loved her.
What a relief. It has been quite sad even disturbing to witness her fatal slide, it feels as if death came as a guest and refused to leave.