When I was 18 years old, I moved out of my parents' house, and into an apartment. A couple months later, K-3 (that's short for Kitty the third, who was the daughter of Kitty the second, who inherited the throne upon Kitty's death), had a litter, and I wanted to keep the smallest one. The girls I shared my home with should be thought of as the evil step sisters. I wasn't related to them, but they were sisters...twins, in fact. They said that they had never had a cat, but were interested in giving it a shot, so we would take in the kitty for 10 days after which they could say they didn't want to keep it if they so chose, and I would find a new home for her. After 10 days, they agreed that Spot could stay.
When I would eat my breakfast in the mornings, I would fill her bowl with cat food, and then drop some of my breakfast on the floor for her. If I forgot to fill her bowl, she'd remind me, and if I didn't get around to dropping anything extra for her, she'd complain. She was a very vocal cat, and made her presence known when she saw fit. I found these qualities to be endearing, but the evil twin sisters, thought they were annoying, and requested that I get rid of her after she'd been living with us for over a month. They had their window of opportunity before and agreed to let her stay, and at this point, I was not getting rid of her. The only solution was to confine her to my room. It wasn't so bad, because I had the biggest room in the house, and a huge window to the front porch and view of the street.
It's funny how a little cat can become such a huge part of your life. I remember when she got out of my apartment one time, and I walked up and down the streets calling her. She would come when I called her name in the house, so it wasn't that far fetched that I might find her outside this way. I gave up after a while, and hoped that she'd return on her own. I left the windows open that she'd used as a pathway out, and went to sleep upset that my cat was out and could be hurt and I couldn't help her. I woke up in the middle of the night to her curled up at the foot of my bed. I jumped up and ran to the window to shut it so that she couldn't make me worry about her again.
I moved around a lot my first few years out of the parents' house. I was in nine apartments in four and a half years, and Spot was with me through all of it. Spot was always a little standoffish. She wanted to be pet, but just a little. A couple fingers scratching on her head was good, and maybe a stroke down her back with your whole hand, but just once or she'll walk away. When people came over, she watched from afar. If you'd been over several times she may let you reach down and stroke he back, but not until she got to know you a little. For three years, it was just us, but then we moved in with other people, Adam, Shawn, and Rob. Rob was allergic to her, but his sinuses adjusted after several months, and they became good friends. Later, when Rob would visit, he was one of the only people she took any interest in.
Spot was a little slower to warm up to Adam, who I eventually married. Only within the last year, she started sleeping on the edge of the bed next to him. Adam had always referred to Spot as my cat, not his or ours. I was happy to hear her purring one night as Adam pet her in bed next us. She was a pretty high strung little cat, but mellowed out as she got older. Even our Dogs, Parker and Bailey, had a friendly repor with her by the end.
When Adam pointed out that she hadn't been eating, and I realized that she had lost a significant amount of weight I was really concerned. She was lethargic and wouldn't eat her food or cat treats that I gave her. Her back was stiff and bent over and she looked like she was exhausted. I cooked her some chicken and fish, and put her bed, litter box, food and water all together so that she wouldn't have to exert extra energy. The vet wasn't going to be able to see her until the next day at noon.
Putting all her things together like that reminded me of when she went through a phase where she moaned loudly at night while she was in heat, and I had to take her to get spayed. When I got her back home, she was still a little out of it and couldn't really walk all that straight. I had done the same thing for her then. In the middle of the room she had a bed, litter box, food, and water. It worked well while she was weak for a couple days, but then she recovered and was fine. This time I wasn't sure if she was going to recover.
Spot went to the vet on Wednesday, and I was scheduled to leave town on Thursday morning. The vet said she was dehydrated and probably had kidney failure. They would put fluids in her and hope for a good recovery. She stayed a the vet's until we returned the following week. I spoke to the doctor on Friday, and she said that Spot was pigging out and being feisty like normal. I was so relieved to hear that she was going to be fine, and I had a great weekend.
We returned late on Tuesday, and I got a call from the vet's office Wednesday telling me that I needed to come in and talk to the doctor because Spot's condition had gotten worse. I went to pick her up, to find that she was skinny still, and that he breathing was labored. She had become anemic, and since since her red blood cell count was so low, they couldn't continue to administer fluids. She had stopped eating again and hadn't really had anything since Monday. The doctor said that if she made it 24 hours, she might be okay, but there were no guarantees. I took her home to her area with a bed, litter box, food and water, but then I had to go back to work.
That evening, I picked up some dinner for myself and went home to check on Spot. I set her on the couch next to me hoping she would be comfortable. After a little while, she jumped off the couch and started to walk behind it. I was sure she had no idea what she was doing, so I picked her up and carried her to the litter box where she emptied her bladder. I saw that she had done so earlier too, and knew that if she wouldn't drink any water, she wouldn't last long. I placed her in front of her water bowl hoping that somehow she snap out of it and start drinking and eating, but she just laid there. Then she got up and darted out of the room to a towel in the hallway that she had laid on earlier. I decided that I should leave her there and try not to have her move around anymore. When I came back to check on her only 10 minutes later, she had passed away.
I felt awful that she had been in so much pain. I was disappointed that she felt better while we were gone and was sick again before we were back. I was sad that she was wasn't going to be around anymore. I called Adam to tell him. My parents came up to watch the gym so that he could come home. I sat and stared at my dead friend until Adam came in the door.
She was a good cat...temperamental and finicky like you expect from a cat and a personality that you do not expect from a cat. She sang along when I sang loudly. She let out a concerned meow when Adam tickled me and I yelled. When I called her name, she popped her head through the doorway where ever I was and meowed back. She chased you down the hallway past her food dish crying for attention if she thought it wasn't full enough. She kept Bailey in line by screeching at her when she smelled her too closely, only to be nipped at. She led Parker and Bailey both in a game of follow the leader in circles around the house. She was sweet and quirky, and she was my cat.
We took her to the animal hospital and are having her cremated. I know it may sound weird, but for some reason it didn't seem right to bury her. I spent much of Thursday picking out an urn that would be nice and appropriate for her. It's a 7 inch tall white cat sitting upright. I'm going to put her leather spiked collar with her name tag on it.
Adam said she waited for me to come home to pass away.
I think he's right.
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