When the Ninth Life is Done
We recently had to deal with the passing of our kitty, Smokey. He had been with us from birth (born to a feral cat who, already pregnant, adopted us, and whom we called Ragamuffin). Rags had her four kittens in our closet. A grey, a black and white, and two black kittens. "Smokey, Patch, and the Batcats".
We made sure we found good homes for Patch and the Batcats, but could not part with Smokey. We had Ragamuffin summarily spayed as soon as the kittens were adopted, and settled in to be a two cat family. Rags lived several years, and was an amazing mother, but an avid hunter, which became her final downfall. Shot with a pellet gun while harassing neighbour's birds, we had to have her put down.
Smokey missed his mum, that much was certain. But he learned to be a little more careful about his hunting habits. Although there WAS that morning we came out on to the patio to find it strewn with vibrantly bright green, yellow, and red feathers! My heart missed a beat as it dawned on me that my precious, lovable, bundle of fluff had killed and eaten someones precious, lovable, bundle of feathers! (Like any good cat owner we quickly disposed of the evidence! My apologise, if you lost a parrot around mid 1998, in the vicinity of Eddie de Beer St!)
He was an expert hunter, taught by his mother who had had to hunt for her own survival until she found us. My husband, the kids, and I, were often on 'save the mouse' alert! I shall never forget that piercing squeak of a terrified field-mouse, or rat, or bat, or even on one occasion the tiniest wee shrew (it really was pretty cute! *sad face*) as Smokey cornered the poor creature behind a bookcase. We did sometimes manage to save the frightened thing, only to have him track it down and bring it back into the house again! Sometimes there was nothing to do but close the door, shut your ears (another sound I shall never forget - the crunching of wee bones as Smokey finished off his dinner!) and just let him get on with it, hoping he didn't make the thing suffer too much!
He was born in our house, and he handled two moves with us while he was alive. He certainly did not enjoy our last move to a townhouse complex. Here is was fenced in unable to roam and hunt as was his habit. But he had to adjust. Old, (though still looking like a sprightly young cat) he simply turned into a crotchety old man, complaining about everything, sleeping a lot of the time, and heaven help any visitor who sat in HIS place on the couch! He becoming more and more picky about what he ate. He resented that he could no longer supplement his meals with fresh prey, and turned his nose up at most of the foods we tried him on. He managed to stay in good condition though, and our vet loved him because he would happily let her stretch him out do her examinations on him.
Last Saturday evening, he picked at his food as usual, and sauntered out onto the patio to his favourite evening place on the outdoor table. We found him there the next morning. He had just slipped away in the night. Thank goodness son-in-law was there to help us deal with it all. He dug the grave, and we buried dear old smokey under the rose bushes next to the rosemary bush.
RIP Smokey
Smokey: 1994 - 2011
Smokey with Sean, his favourite human. Photo taken 2010.