Memories of a 15 1/2 year old cat
She was never supposed to be mine in the first place. She was picked out of a litter by my sister who, new to Atlanta, decided a cat might keep her company. By the time I met her a couple of weeks later, she lacked a name besides, "That damn cat!" It was the weekend of my 19th birthday. I was visiting from college. I was in a French mood for some reason and she made me laugh. I was amused by her cute, little mew. I named her Moliere, Mo for short, and she came back and lived with me in the dorms. I was caught with her twice; the first time I was written up for "contraband," the second time I lied and said it was only for the day while my sis was dropping me back off from break and she'd be gone that day. I remember I sent her to stay with friends in another dorm. When I went to pick her up I found that some girls had fallen in love with her and taken her back to their room. When I went to their room, they were gone. I talked the next door neighbors into letting me in through the adjoining bathroom. Of course just as I was about to put her in my backpack, the girls walked in. Awkward!
I used to carry her around campus in my backpack. She got used to settling into it. I'd unzip the bag a bit so she could poke her head out as I walked. At the end of the year my dad was not amused to hear I had acquired a cat. She came home with me with the understanding that I was to find her a new home. Ten hours later, dad saw that we were quite attached. She stayed on my lap the whole trip. I was able to keep her after all :-)
She was never much of a meow-er, but she liked to talk in a "mew mew mew" kind of way. She'd backtalk you all the time. "Mo, get in here!" "Mew mew mew," she'd reply. She was never really a cuddly cat, but she had loads of personality. When Demko and I returned from our honeymoon, she took one look at us and promptly pushed a small sculpture (a wedding gift) off the dining room table as it to say, "That's what you get for leaving me!" Other than that, nothing was broken the whole time we were gone.
She stopped eating about a week ago. I kept thinking, "She's bound to eat sooner or later," but then I got swept up in Babbistaag prep. She was living in the utility room (hated the dog) so it was easy to forget to check on her. By the time I got her to the vet, her organs should have been shut down per what they said. She improved with some care but a huge lump on her back leg told me why she wasn't walking to the food or water bowl. Why she wasn't using the litter box unless I held her in it. The vet diagnosed a tumor. He said she was too weak for surgery. When I asked at what point we'd know she was strong enough, he suppressed an amused chuckle and reminded me that she's 15 years old. My head knows this, but my heart wanted to hope.
They put a port in to drain some fluid, why I'm not so sure anymore. To give me extended hope she may improve? I know now from tending to her the last two days that the only way she can improve is to have the tumor removed and there is no telling if she'll survive that or recover well enough. Up until yesterday she was still eating when I'd put food in front of her. Now she ignores it. The only thing keeping her going is the formula and water I've been feeding her from a syringe. No way to live for a once proud cat.
So, tomorrow I go back to the vet. If he's against surgery, or if the price is just more than we can bare, then tomorrow will be my last day with a creature with whom I have sustained the longest relationship ever outside of my family members. When I think back to college, getting caught with her in my dorm room, the trip home with her on my lap, the day I was in a car accident and she was in the car with me; they all seem so long ago. I can't believe I've had her so long. But at the same time, I wish I had more time.
It hurts so much, but I know I can't be selfish.
I used to carry her around campus in my backpack. She got used to settling into it. I'd unzip the bag a bit so she could poke her head out as I walked. At the end of the year my dad was not amused to hear I had acquired a cat. She came home with me with the understanding that I was to find her a new home. Ten hours later, dad saw that we were quite attached. She stayed on my lap the whole trip. I was able to keep her after all :-)
She was never much of a meow-er, but she liked to talk in a "mew mew mew" kind of way. She'd backtalk you all the time. "Mo, get in here!" "Mew mew mew," she'd reply. She was never really a cuddly cat, but she had loads of personality. When Demko and I returned from our honeymoon, she took one look at us and promptly pushed a small sculpture (a wedding gift) off the dining room table as it to say, "That's what you get for leaving me!" Other than that, nothing was broken the whole time we were gone.
She stopped eating about a week ago. I kept thinking, "She's bound to eat sooner or later," but then I got swept up in Babbistaag prep. She was living in the utility room (hated the dog) so it was easy to forget to check on her. By the time I got her to the vet, her organs should have been shut down per what they said. She improved with some care but a huge lump on her back leg told me why she wasn't walking to the food or water bowl. Why she wasn't using the litter box unless I held her in it. The vet diagnosed a tumor. He said she was too weak for surgery. When I asked at what point we'd know she was strong enough, he suppressed an amused chuckle and reminded me that she's 15 years old. My head knows this, but my heart wanted to hope.
They put a port in to drain some fluid, why I'm not so sure anymore. To give me extended hope she may improve? I know now from tending to her the last two days that the only way she can improve is to have the tumor removed and there is no telling if she'll survive that or recover well enough. Up until yesterday she was still eating when I'd put food in front of her. Now she ignores it. The only thing keeping her going is the formula and water I've been feeding her from a syringe. No way to live for a once proud cat.
So, tomorrow I go back to the vet. If he's against surgery, or if the price is just more than we can bare, then tomorrow will be my last day with a creature with whom I have sustained the longest relationship ever outside of my family members. When I think back to college, getting caught with her in my dorm room, the trip home with her on my lap, the day I was in a car accident and she was in the car with me; they all seem so long ago. I can't believe I've had her so long. But at the same time, I wish I had more time.
It hurts so much, but I know I can't be selfish.