Yesterday we had to do something we had dreaded, but which we knew was coming anyway. Our cat Hestia was almost twenty years old, but had been remarkably fit and agile for almost all of it. Until the weather turned cold, she was patrolling the perimeter of the house, chasing birds and squirrels. She played with the Green Laser Spot, and slept on or by Pepper Mill every night. But in the last few weeks her kidneys finally stopped functioning (we’d been giving her medication for years), and she lost weight rapidly, stopped eating, and had trouble walking. She cried with a new, odd wail, and she always wanted t be in someone’s lap. Finally, she became incontinent, and had trouble simultaneously drinking water and breathing. We took her to the vet for the last time yesterday morning.
She was alert and showed interest in the drive for the first time – probably because she was being held, rather than in a cat carrier, and could look out at the scenery. But it couldn’t disguise her poor condition. The vet had a hard time finding her vein for the injection.
Our daughter MiliCal had grown up with Hestia. She was eight when we got Hestia as a kitten from a neighbor. MilliCal had never known a home without cats.
But it is, as I say, the End of an Era. Hestia was to be our last cat – Pepper Mill has decreed it. It’s the end of over thirty years of cats at the CalMeacham household. Even before we had a house, we got Midnight from the shelter and, the next day, Maggie. They hated each other at first, but eventually reconciled. Then we brought them with us when we moved into our house. (Favorite scene – Midnight and Maggie were put in the bathroom with a litter box while we got everything packed up and sent off to the house. Then we opened the door of the bathroom. They rushed out, then suddenly stopped and looked around, bewildered. Where were they? Where was everything? The room is empty! Is this the same room? They loved it when we got to the house, which was enormous compared to the apartment.
Over the years we’ve had several cats, up to five at one time. And a few visitors. But now that’s all over. I was amazed at the speed that Pepper Mil and MilliCal got rid of things. The scratching pad and the deluxe ”Feliner Diner” scratching structure. The chasing toy had disappeared a few days previously, after Hestia threw up on it. The basket of cat toys was thrown out, except for the cat combs (cleaned, to be given away). The litter boxes and paraphernalia disappeared. The tray that held the cat food was taken away, the bowls cleaned and put away. The paper plate with treats thrown out. The steps that MilliCal bought to enable Hestia to get up onto the bed or the ottoman given away. Hestia disdained it, right up t the end, insisting on jumping up onto both structures and using her claws. “Do you people think I’m OLD??”
Pepper and MilliCal didn’t want to see anything that reminded them of her. Now there’s a lot more space in the house. The water bowl I put on my nightstand for Hestia to drink out of (instead of forcing her head into my water glass) is gone. We won’t have to arrange for anyone to watch after and feed the cats when we go away.
I still find myself absently checking to make sure cats don’t escape when we open the front door, or looking to see them in their usual haunts. But they’re all gone, and I won’t see them again.
