The Last of the Line
It seems to me that most animal lovers are divided into two groups – dog people and cat people and I am definitely a dog person, so it has always mystified me that I have provided a home for a copious number of cats over several feline generations. Today brought the saga to an end. Our final – and I mean final – cat went on her longest journey to kitty heaven.
This last of the long line was named Calli, so called for her colouring, being white, ginger and black and her lush, long haired coat. She was one of a litter of four born in a bookshelf to my son’s pet moggy that we acquired in a moment of insanity. Warning – do not go into pet shops with an eight year old only child. Being precocious or should that be promiscuous, said moggy bred very early before we could make the trip to the vet to have her made into an “it”. We already had two cats – don’t ask how they joined the household – suffice to say, strays and soft hearts shouldn’t mix. Did I mention, that I’m not a cat person.
Anyway, back to the new litter. Of those four kittens, one was stillborn, leaving three to find homes for. Funny how people become deaf when they hear the words “free to a good home”. We managed to adopt one out, but were left with two, plus Mum, plus the two who were already domiciled. As the kittens matured, they were scheduled to be desexed along with Mum, when the male of the species took on a car on the highway and lost – reducing our numbers to four cats in our household. Did I also mention that at this time, we had three dogs. Starting to get the idea of what a soft touch I am.
Fast forward seventeen years. All the cats, with the exception of Calli had departed this mortal coil in their own time and all reached a very old age, one managing to gain the keys to the house at twenty one. Funny how people who don’t like cats always seem to attract them and have them around forever.
Despite her physical beauty, Calli was not a nice cat, in fact she was an absolute bitch. She made the other cats miserable with her bullying ways, hated to be patted and cuddling was a definite no no – I have the scars to prove it. But she lived on. Now as the only feline, she became more approachable and even took to smooching up to the dogs, but human petting was still in the no go zone.
Over the past year we saw a steady decline, both in her agility and her beauty – even her grooming and toileting became an issue. The last couple of weeks were heartbreaking, even for a non-cat person. She was eating well so I fed her the good stuff she liked hoping to put some weight back on her bones, but with little success. Her fur fell out and what was left, was matted and manky, she lost her sight and formed sores on her face – she was rapidly beginning to resemble something out of Alien or a bad episode of Dr. Who. It became apparent that it was more inhumane to keep her alive than to nudge her on her way to that kitty heaven. This morning on my walk with the dogs I decided I would call our vet and book Calli in to receive the big needle, but when we returned home, Calli was unconscious on the lounge floor breathing her last. It must have been sudden as she was still active when we left a half hour earlier.
Leaving her in peace, I grabbed the spade and dug a hole in the garden, thinking I could do the deed and still get to the office without losing too much of my day. Wrong again – even in her departure, Calli called the shots. Closer to death than life, she kept breathing, albeit laboured, for another couple of hours and I certainly couldn’t bury her while her heart was still beating.
Finally, life left her poor body, so she was gently wrapped and moved to her last resting place in the garden that she loved, even if she didn’t love anything else. To witness her final battle was more moving than I expected, considering the lack of affection between she and me.
However, now life may be a little easier and maybe less problematic, just me and two dogs – if I can only get them to stop chewing my shoes.