Today we lost or 14 year old cat, Phoebe. I went downstairs to get a book I needed for a citation, and found her laying on the concrete, barely responsive. I scooped her up, called my wife, and rushed her to the vet. She never left my arms the whole drive there. She couldn’t meow anymore, just mouthed a couple of silent meows. She reached up a couple of times, so slowly, and gently touched my face (I was holding her like a baby). But, she probably died in my arms. They tried to revive her at the vet, but they couldn’t get much air in her lungs, and couldn’t get compressions to work; there was a large mass in her chest cavity, probably cancer.
Two days ago she was begging for treats as always, we hadn’t seen her yesterday- normal, especially when fireworks are involved. Today… I cannot help feel guilty, how long had she lain on that cold, hard floor all alone? I was gonna go get her a new bed today, in her old-age she had decided to mostly live in the basement, and her old one was thin, and full of her hair.
I know she was 14. And she was the least loving cat I’ve ever had- hated being petted, and LORD! do not try and hold her. But she loved her hairbrush (purred like it was going out of style whenever I got it out), and loved her treats (especially the “Temptations” with the crunchy crust around a soft center!) and would come running whenever we fed the dogs, knowing her treats weren’t far behind, meowing loudly from her perch on the table until she got hers! I won’t miss the de-litter training herself… luckily she would use wee-wee pads, but still… (We took her to the vet several times, finally after all the tests it was explained that sometimes cats just do that in their dotage)
She wasn’t even my cat- I adopted her when I met my wife. Phoebe was 8. My wife had her since she was found, abandoned at 4 weeks, and turned into the shelter. She was my cat, though, my Bo-Bo (Beau-Beau), and it breaks my heart to think of her lying there, all alone.
Pets don’t live long enough… their only fault, really.