Goodnight, Goliath
Last night we lost Goliath, who left us at the ripe old age of 21.
Goliath has pretty much always been old and decrepit. I remember one Christmastime when she was looking particularly haggard, with fur falling out, an unsteady gait and seeming like little more than skin and bones and fluff. I commented to my brother that I didn't expect her to survive the winter.
That was in 1998.
Goliath was not our cat, to start with. She belonged to a neighbor, and was left behind when said neighbor left town. Luckily, she was quick to notice that there were lots of cats living two houses down across the street, and the people there were not particular about who they left food out for. So before too long, she became a local, and lived here for a long time afterward.
Her health improved when she became a full-time indoor cat, but she always had that look to her, as though she were a thousand years old already. My brother and I used to joke that she was a lich-cat, but was too happy to be all evil and brain-eating like one might expect from the undead.
She was a bonkler. Any visitor who gave her a single pet would have a friend for life (and a friend who would sit next to them mewing for more petting).
For all her advanced age, the end was rather sudden. Three days ago, she was hopping up onto my chair to nap like always, and was sneaking in to get Mirage's leftover wet food. Two days ago, though, I was sitting on Ivy's lower bunk at bedtime, and she tried (and failed) to hop up. It was then I noticed that she was not walking properly, with her back legs skidding out from beneath her. By yesterday morning, she could not walk at all, and we knew that this time it was the real thing.
This morning, she was gone.
I'm sad to have lost a kitty who's been part of the family for so long, but at the same time, she would have been 22 this year. She had a damned good run.
I think she's earned a good nap.
Once again, Jonesy, I'm going to borrow a page.
Goliath has pretty much always been old and decrepit. I remember one Christmastime when she was looking particularly haggard, with fur falling out, an unsteady gait and seeming like little more than skin and bones and fluff. I commented to my brother that I didn't expect her to survive the winter.
That was in 1998.
Goliath was not our cat, to start with. She belonged to a neighbor, and was left behind when said neighbor left town. Luckily, she was quick to notice that there were lots of cats living two houses down across the street, and the people there were not particular about who they left food out for. So before too long, she became a local, and lived here for a long time afterward.
Her health improved when she became a full-time indoor cat, but she always had that look to her, as though she were a thousand years old already. My brother and I used to joke that she was a lich-cat, but was too happy to be all evil and brain-eating like one might expect from the undead.
She was a bonkler. Any visitor who gave her a single pet would have a friend for life (and a friend who would sit next to them mewing for more petting).
For all her advanced age, the end was rather sudden. Three days ago, she was hopping up onto my chair to nap like always, and was sneaking in to get Mirage's leftover wet food. Two days ago, though, I was sitting on Ivy's lower bunk at bedtime, and she tried (and failed) to hop up. It was then I noticed that she was not walking properly, with her back legs skidding out from beneath her. By yesterday morning, she could not walk at all, and we knew that this time it was the real thing.
This morning, she was gone.
I'm sad to have lost a kitty who's been part of the family for so long, but at the same time, she would have been 22 this year. She had a damned good run.
I think she's earned a good nap.
Once again, Jonesy, I'm going to borrow a page.