For many personal and professional reasons, this year has been great…a banner year. For a multitude of other circumstances, this year has totally sucked. One of the latter reasons of major suckage was because we had to euthanize Lucy – our five-year-old Tortoise-shell cat – last Friday.
I know that pet owners will pump hyperbole into the stratosphere when talking about their furry roommates. Can you blame them? You invite a reformed killer into the house and they don’t go around murdering every living thing… you want to sing their praises to the heavens and leave no pair of ears unmolested telling tales of how your cat or dog (or capybara) did an amazing trick or laughed when you told a joke.
Lucy was a special cat. She acted more like a dog, in that she desired belly rubs first thing in the morning (and would not allow you to leave until she was satisfied). She’d sit for a reverse combing – apparently something you are not supposed to do to a cat – and totally enjoy having her fur roughed up. Lucy would politely “meow” when you were through, expecting you’d comb her correctly and save her the trouble of doing it.
She sat on her haunches when waiting for food, and inexplicably would go “fishing” in her water bowls before drinking. Apparently she could not stand the thought of drinking water with cat hair in the bowl either. However, her most endearing move was sitting with her paws crossed, like she was a Grand Dame of the Royal Court, awaiting an activity of her liking.
She was sick for a while, but we didn’t know how bad it was.
She threw up food, along with hairballs. Then blood. But we didn’t realize.
She was slowing down, and not having the Zoomies as often. But I didn’t notice.
And when I did notice, it was too late.
Not that you needed to know, but I bawled my eyes out when I heard she had a large lump in her stomach on Tuesday. I had trouble driving home as I wondered why the cancer was not detectable on an x-ray taken only two weeks beforehand. She had trouble eating and drinking over the weekend, and was only a shadow of her normal self.
I scheduled my cat’s death on a Wednesday afternoon. And two days later, she was gone.
I scared the piss out of an older couple at the vet with my wailing. My wife held my hand as we both wept for our departed cat.
If you’ve never had an “ugly cry,” I’m gonna say you’re one of the lucky ones.
This was one shitty week.
Rest in Peace, Lucy.
I wish you unlimited belly rubs, bottomless bowls of salmon pieces, and all of the fishing expeditions in the faucet and water bowls you desire. Keep up the smiles, knowing looks, and prim-and-proper poses for the angels in heaven.
You’ve earned your place there.
Joseph T. Page II 