updated 2/14/08
Maybe Baby Cat made it to his 15th birthday. He missed his 15th anniversary with us by one day. Baby died late this afternoon.
Fifteen years ago, we first heard, then saw Baby, behind the dryer in our garage, where Mama Cat had stashed him. His eyes were sightless blue; he was more skin than fur. We think Mama had rescued him from some catastrophe that cost her the rest of the litter. At some point, Mama moved Baby and we thought we might not see him again, until a neighbor found him in a flower pot, a safe place to stash your only kitten.
Mama was feral and ferocious. I actually feared her for quite a while. I thought it might be wise to drive her away. I opened the garage door and raised hell. She would not leave that kitten, even when I drove her up the wall — literally — into a corner of the garage. When she peed in fear, I felt myself a monster. I remember sitting in the garage with her glowering and growling as I thought, ‘something has to give.’ I approached her with gloves and reached out to pet her. It was like a switch was flipped. When she purred and arched, I drew back, expecting claws.
To protect our precious Miss Kitty (yes, we’re brilliant with pet names), we took Mama and Baby to the vet. Both were diagnosed with feline leukemia. However, cats can show leukemia simply because of a recent exposure without necessarily getting the disease. We needed to test both again in a month. (At the time, we wondered if this was a way to sell twice as many tests.) For that month, we kept Mama and Kitty apart and Baby stayed with a friend of ours.
After a month, both cats passed the test and we brought both into the house — Kitty’s house. Mama was determined to be the top cat and even drove Kitty into the street to make it possible. We decided it was best to send Mama to a farm in Los Lunas. For once, that is not just a story one tells a child. (Kids, it usually is just a story.)
Baby fit in fine with us. Eventually he outgrew his name, becoming a large, mellow cat. I often called him Little Dude and Doodle. Fourteen or so years passed.
Mornings and evenings, as we returned from walks with the dog, Baby was often waiting in the side yard or on the wall. He’d come out to the sidewalk as soon as he heard us and fall into step with Lucky, side-by-side.
Last summer, Kitty became unbearably sick. Putting her ‘to sleep’ was horrible. Though I miss her still, something changed when she was gone — Baby blossomed. After years as a mostly outdoor cat, often silent and aloof, Baby found his voice and took to reveling in Merri’s lap or by her side.
Through the winter, Baby spent the night inside, usually sleeping on Merri’s recliner or a dining room chair. (During this time, Lucky stopped sleeping under our bed and moved to the couch with its electric blanket.) In the mornings, Lucky gets me up early. Baby would go out with Lucky. When I went for the paper a little later, Baby would come running to get back into the warmth.
His increased companionship puts the edge on the irony to come. Last November, Baby passed his routine exam, though he had a couple of unusual heart rhythms that some day might worsen. We figured the trips to the vet exacerbated his heart problems. We joked about his right to refuse treatment and his right to die. We also refused a microchip for him and accepted a new three-year vaccine, figuring he would never see the vet again.
At the same time, we switched Baby to kitten food. He put on just enough weight and all seemed right with the world.
About a week ago, Baby started sneaking into the back of our closet — he would even pop the door open to do so. He also took to sleeping on one of two wool rugs on either side of the bed, instead of on our bed or in front of a heater vent. Notably odd, but not alarming. Until we realized he wasn’t eating anything. Over the next few days, before we could get to the vet, we thought a lot about how we may have kept Kitty alive too long, leading her to suffer too much. Still, this seemed premature, because Baby was drinking and peeing and walking about — just losing weight.
Monday morning, the vet found a significant mass in Baby’s belly, roughly between his colon and bladder. Xrays suggested some involvement of his kidneys, as well. We contemplated more tests, chemo, and surgery. These considerations are always hard for anyone you love. They were harder still given that Baby wasn’t obviously that sick yet. I know there is a tinge of denial in that, but some truth, too.
The vet hydrated Baby overnight. That treatment helped him revive a bit. We brought him home for hospice care, knowing the days or hours were numbered (as they always are for all of us). He sat in our laps and purred. He walked about the house, getting up into a favorite chair. This morning, I took him to the backyard for sun and bird sounds.
We might have gone on with hospice care, including subcutaneous saline drip, but he could no longer keep even water down. After 24 hours at home, a day short of our 15th anniversary with him, we had to surrender hope and let him go. We’ll miss him sorely. mjh
PS: Five years ago, I discovered I’m allergic to cats. (Having lived with cats most of my life.) The allergist suggested I consider getting rid of one or both cats. I told him, “time will take care of that.” A glib dagger in my heart.
PPS: We dug a hole for Baby Cat under his blue spruce tree, where he often slept. He’ll become part of that tree and, together, they’ll out live us, providing shelter for birds and, one day, no doubt, another cat.
Mer’s take: Baby Cat, February 1993 – February 13, 2008
