“ Is everything ok?” a friend asked me yesterday. I told him that after work my family was taking one of our cats to the vet to be put down. “Well at least it’s just a damn cat.”
Fuzzy came to our family 16 years ago as a feral stray who was hanging around my wife’s fathers place with it’s mother and several siblings. Two siblings had already been run over by cars and my wife was afraid that all of them were going to meet the same fate — so one morning while visiting her dad I was able to corral one of the kitties. It took 30 minutes and several scratches to get the cat into the car but I knew my wife would sleep better knowing that at least one kitty was safe — damn cat.
It did not take Fuzzy long to get used to her new home — fresh food and water available 24/7, soft bed to sleep in, and treats whenever she cried. Fuzzy LOVED treats and would make sure that she jumped on my chest every morning just minutes before my alarm would go off to make sure that I was not late for work and thus ensure that I had enough cash to buy her treats. She was even nice enough to preform this ritual on my days off— damn cat.
Because of her wild beginnings Fuzzy was never much for hugs or feeling confined. It took almost a year before she would let either of us pet her without running away afterwards. Occasionally I would sneak up on her while she was asleep on our bed and hug, kiss, and pet her until she was able to struggle out of my arms and run away. Ten years later she finally stopped struggling to flee and would instead give me a look of utter disdain while I enjoyed “my kittie hug”. It is almost like I should be grateful that she allows us to keep her in her lap of luxury — damn cat.
Fuzzy always was a bit of a loner — she would stay hidden most of the day but always managed to appear when I arrived home from work to receive a dose of her treats. She would appear from her resting place under a bed or couch and cry (scream) until treats were administered. This “habbit” morphed from occurring when I returned home from work or any extended time away to happening anytime someone walked in the front door. One could administer treats to her Highness and once finished eating them — simply open and close the front door — and the process would begin all over again as if nothing transpired 15 seconds before — damn cat.
Because she kept to herself so much and had a luxurious full coat, it took a while to notice the weight loss. Her actions slowly became more and more erratic and sometimes she would stand in a room and make the most god awful howl — almost like she was scared or lost. The vet and online articles all said that this was not unusual for older cats but something just did not seem right. It may have been senility or cancer or some other condition but yesterday it got to the point where we had to put her down. Our hearts are broken. I feel terrible for having to make such a decision but I know it was the right one. Fuzzy was the “middle child” and aside from a terrible treat habit did not give us any real trouble for 16 wonderful years. We treat our pets like children and this was not an easy decision nor one we took lightly. Our family has a hole in it today and I know that it will take some time to heal. Thank you Fuzzy for being our cat and allowing us to care for you. We will miss you. I know that I have cried more the past 12 hours than I probably should but at least I know I have a reason — damn cat.