I had hoped I had a few more years, maybe forever, before I'd have to write this post. But as it so often does, the end came too fast and as much as I thought I'd be ready...I wasn't.
I said goodbye to my best friend today.
In the fall 1997 I was exploring adulthood. I had recently moved into my first apartment with my first serious boyfriend. I was on my way home from work when I saw her in the display at the pet shop in the mall. This tiny silver bit of fluff. I called my boyfriend (from a pay phone! Ah, the simple pre-cell phone days) and told him he had to meet me at the mall, I was going to buy this cat and wanted a drive home. We had discussed getting a cat but figured we'd wait a bit. The moment I saw her I knew she was my cat and I wasn't going to wait around!
My boyfriend chose her sibling, a black male he named Spencer, and for $30 they were ours. They were a funny little pair, always under foot and being silly. They were lovely.
Six months later my relationship fell apart and one night I came home to find my (now ex) boyfriend had moved out while I was at work and took Spencer with him. I found Molly running around the apartment mewling, looking for her sibling. She didn't eat for 3 days and took to sleeping on my chest. Several months later my ex came by to see me and she sniffed at him and you could see the recognition dawn. She hissed and swatted him, then retreated under a chair growling and yowling. I agreed with her, and sent him on his way.
It wasn't until my husband came along that she warmed up to another man. Even when we lived with a couple male roommates she didn't want much to do with them, but she warmed to Phil almost instantly. She knew a good one when she saw one.
When she was about a year old we moved into a bachelor apartment in an old house, and discovered mice in our first week there. We also discovered that Molly was full on terrified of mice. Even toys of mice she would yelp and run away from. When my eldest got a hamster she refused to go into his room until after it had passed on. Mice were not her thing. Plastic lizards, however, were her most favourite toys ever. She also had a real love for Eeyore's tail, which she constantly swiped off of my stuffed Eeyore toy.
When she was two we moved into an apartment with two friends, and we had gotten another cat named Tabitha and my dear friend J had a cat named PC. For some reason, though none of the cats had ever gone into heat before, the three of them started cycling like mad and making us crazy. Appointments for spaying were made. Before Molly's appointment we noticed she had suddenly lost a bunch of weight and then I discovered a lump in her throat. The vet decided to go ahead and prep her for her spaying, but once she was under anesthetic they would do exploratory surgery on her throat to see if it was something they could fix. If yes, they'd go ahead with surgery. If not, they'd call me to come and say good bye. I spent all day worried and waiting for the phone to ring, and when it finally did the vet asked me "Do you do cross stitch?" Apparently the little ribbon and string fanatic had gotten into my sewing stuff and ate a bit of embroidery floss...that was attached to a dull tipped needle. The needle lodged in her throat, the equivalent of a butter knife lodged in a person's throat. A round of antibiotics and some baby food and fancy feast (soft foods!) and she was good as new, and we had a great story to tell.
She handled moves and life changes pretty well. When my friend and roommate J had her son she was sort of indifferent to him until he got mobile, and then it was a lot of getting out of reach. And she would get jealous whenever I took too many pictures of him, she would start posing nearby so I could snap a few of her too.
She loved to sit on the back of couch, and would often chew on the hair of unsuspecting visitors who smelled particularly good.
When we moved in with Phil and Cam it was a bit of a shock for her...she had gone from living with just me for a while, then almost on her own in the apartment as I spent much of my time with Phil. She quickly understood that while Cam was young, he was old enough that she could smack him if he bugged her too much, but nothing with claws (until he was older, and then only that one time he tried to trap her on his bed). He learned quickly how to pet her properly and she learned that little kids love to give cats treats and don't get tired of waving cat toys about. A friendship formed.
During my pregnancy with Grace she was super clingy, she knew I was changing in some way. When Grace arrived she was initially unsure of what to make of her but then became close to her as well. When Gabriel and the twins came along she was skilled at patience and tolerance, and exactly what was acceptable to deter small fingers from poking into eyes and ears. My kids all know the meaning of the word "gentle" and what happens when you're not.
She spent most of her life sleeping on or near my feet, despite that I'm a kicker in my sleep. The last few months however she took over my daughter's pillows, since Grace was willing to scoot down and not pester her while she slept, which must have been easier on her tired bones.
I used to say that Molly was immortal, she must be since she was so old and yet showed no signs of aging. Still tiny and kittenish, she was active and full of personality.
Then one day we noticed she had one white whisker amongst her greys. That was the first sign. Then came more hours of sleep and a general slowing down. She no longer put up with rougher handling. Her "cranky old lady" days had arrived. By summer's end we noticed she was getting quite skinny and we took more care in making sure that the other cat, 6 year old Ginny, wasn't stealing her food before she could eat her fill.
Finally, this past weekend I noticed her breathing had gotten laboured. She was breathing with her mouth open, and her long slow breaths were accompanied by sucking in of her abdomen, all really bad signs in cats. I took my friend to the vet this afternoon and the vet confirmed...with her advanced age Molly's condition was a fatal one, and leaving her to suffer to the end would not be the kind thing to do. Her lungs were fluid filled, she was only going to get worse.
I held her while they administered a sedative to calm her down and she hissed and spat and nipped, showing her spunky side one last time. Then she curled up with her head in my hand and rested.
The rest of the process was peaceful. I whispered words of love and goodbye, and many thanks to her. This cat and I grew up together, she was with me through hard times and joyous times, through all the important milestones. We were kittens in the world, figuring it all out and finding our way. We found home and increased our family. We matured and settled in.
She was loved and gave love in return.
I am not sure how I'll manage to have a good long soak in the tub without her watching from the edge, dipping her tail in and playing with the bubbles. I think I'll miss those times with her the most. The quiet, just her and I time. My husband bought me a memorial tattoo, I have my baby girl forever on my foot, but it isn't the same. (the photo below is the one we used for the tattoo)
Molly, September 16, 1997-September 24, 2013
I will miss her every day.
No comments:
Post a Comment