As of today, I am down to one cat. My girl, Munchkin. She’s going to have to get used to being an only cat.
A mere three weeks after I said goodbye to Rocky, I had to say goodbye to my oldest, Andy. Named by my Mom after a neighbor’s cat after the neighbor moved to Washington, he was a stray who, basically, adopted us. He hung around our porch for a while begging for food, and later sneaked into our house from time to time. Finally, Mom made him part of our family, officially; getting him his shots and brushing his scraggly fur and letting him sleep on the couch. In short order, he became a soft-furred, bright-eyed, healthy and filled-out cat.
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He was a sweetie, a curmudgeon, a street-smart survivor and a champion sleeper all at once. He was the only one I trusted to be outside, since he paced himself and only stayed out for short times and went for short distances.
The feeling of him nuzzling my hand with his face was the BEST feeling in the world. I will forever miss that! He also loved having the sides of his neck scratched, closing his eyes just so in that blissed-out way all cat owners know.
And you know the meme with the cat’s paw stopping their hooman from typing? That was Andy, whenever he thought I was spending too much time on my phone and not enough time paying attention to him.
When he was being officious, we called him Prince Andrew. (Even as that name is particularly unfortunate right now.) Mr. Montrose called him "weird little dude", affectionately.
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It’s been difficult for me to estimate the ages of my pets in general and Andy, being a former stray, was no exception. I guessed he was born around 2002 but, of course, he could have been much older. That would make him, at minimum, 17 ½ years old.
It took him a while to warm up to me after Mom died in 2013. Cats usually only bond with one human, or at least one human at a time. But eventually he stood still and let me stroke his head and scratch his chin, and later on he started jumping on my bed and hanging out there.
He also had a tendency to let his claws grow too long, especially as he got older and less flexible; and after I struggled at first to hold him still so as to trim his nails, he grew to trust me more after I'd relieved him of that irritation.
He had been battling chronic kidney disease since at least 2016, when I first noticed him guzzling lots and lots of water even after the hot summer days had ended. He lived on with his old-feline’s-bane (for it’s the fate of many geriatric cats) for 3 more years and change, before it finally got to him. This is typical for cats with CKD; they can often live a long time in good spirits with their condition, until eventually it exceeds their body’s ability to compensate.
I was prepared for his eventual demise— but not for it to be so soon after Rocky’s. I must admit: I’m having a hard time right now.
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During Rocky's decline and death, Andy underwent a resurgence. Eating the food Rocky wouldn't, he grew robust and glossy. Little did I know, that was his last hurrah.
Trouble started the night of January 28th. I was about ready to go to bed, stirring a cup of cocoa when I heard scrambling down the hall. Thinking it was one of the cats having a random thought of "RUN!" and springing into action, I walked down the hall... to the sight of Andy in a grand mal seizure.
He convulsed down the hall on his feet in some demonic kind of tap dance, before he dropped to the ground and started twitching. It lasted for nearly 60 seconds, and then he recovered. A bit wobbly on his feet for a couple hours afterward, but basically back to his old self.
My vet said they had no neurologist on staff, recommending a vet about five miles away. My mind rattled off the possibilities: brain tumor? His kidney disease? Of course, it could be plain old epilepsy. That's how it looked, after all. Almost the way it did in humans. Despite his age, if it was the latter there may not be a whole lot to worry about.
I read that older cats can develop seizures from certain sounds. I had been stirring a cup of cocoa, loudly, at the moment he seized! From then on, if I wanted to stir anything in a cup and he was in earshot, I used plastic spoons and stirred slowly and carefully.
I thought back on the few times I heard random running and scurrying, random scrapes of claws on linoleum, over the past several months; and it hit me that maybe this hadn't been Andy's first seizure.
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Then, over the next few days, Andy started to drool and bleed from his mouth. He stopped eating dry food, so I got him lots of Fancy Feast Gravy Lover's, which he happily lapped up, though I could tell his pain was getting worse. And his breath smelled like death itself.
Figuring that he might have broken a tooth during the seizure, I dropped him off at the vet to see about the likely roaring infection in his mouth.
I was on my lunch break at work when I got the bad news. She did not recommend putting him under anesthesia, the vet said. He's dying, and I should see his clinical chemistries if I didn't believe her.
That evening, I did. And as I did, I became overcome with dread. His BUN was over 180; normal ranges from 20 to 60. His creatinine was 9.0; normal is from 0.8 to 2.1. His amylase was 2488; normal is no more than 1200. He also had a low heart rate (likely due to high blood potassium from the CKD) and a body temperature 5 degrees lower than normal.
His renal disease had finally gotten the upper hand.
I told her, my schedule is pretty tight these next few days. If he's still alive by Saturday, I'll bring him in to be put down. She said he might not last that long.
We were both right, as it turned out.
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Complicating matters was a snowstorm on Friday the 7th, which dumped about twice the snow they had forecast. They canceled school, so no work for me. I hunkered down, kept warm, and spent as much quality time with Andy as I could.
About 12 noon yesterday, he was lying on my bed when he had another seizure. And I don't think he was quite the same after this one. His joints flexed weirdly and he became even more listless.
His last day passed eerily like Rocky's did. They both grinded their teeth; they both stopped drinking water; they both repeatedly got up, walked a bit, then slumped to the ground. I did odd chores and made my other boy as comfortable as possible, just as I had with Rocky.
I'd had Billie Eilish's "Ocean Eyes" stuck in my head during Rocky's last days; and for Andy, his "goodbye song" turned out to be Schubert's Impromptu in B-flat major. I even sang him the chorus while petting him:
Finally, this morning he passed, about 10:15, on a fleece blanket on the floor of the master bedroom. His fur hadn't been so soft in a long time.
Goodbye Andy, my old guy and soft boy. Say hi to Rocky for me. I'll never forget your nuzzles and, especially, your paw reaching out to stop me from exceeding my screen time.