Caturday

The downside of the whole nine lives situation with cats is that when they have run through all nine and have come to the natural end of their lives and no longer find any pleasure in their daily routine they tend not to just pass away peacefully in their sleep. They tend to need to come into the clinic to be given that final gentle nudge into the great beyond. Cats are that tough. Consequently, we see a lot of really ancient, really skinny, really creaky cats come in for euthanasia. Often they are accompanied by entire families, sometimes including older teenagers who have never known life without that cat.

It's been a long time since I've had to say goodbye to my own cat, but after the last old cat euthanasia at the clinic - an 18-year-old torti named Kitten - it's been on my mind. Kitten reminded me a lot of our oldest cat,  Lucy, also a torti. I recalled that Caturday would soon be upon us. Lucy was a stray and we have no idea when exactly she was born, so making an educated guess we assigned her birthday to the first of March. Gabi, the second oldest cat, has her birthday in September (we think...), but the newest beast, Lily was probably also born in early March. It was then that we decided to make the first Saturday in March "Caturday" to mark both Lucy and Lily's birthday. This Caturday Lucy will be thirteen and will officially be an old cat. Not ancient by any means, but old. Old enough that I look at her a little differently.

I came home after Kitten's euthanasia, made myself a mug of tea and sat in my usual spot on my usual couch. Lucy was sleeping on the other couch but stirred when I sat down. She looked over at me, stretched, leapt down and made her way over, purring loudly. Oh yes, she definitely still can leap. In fact, there's nothing about her that would hint at her age except for the fact that she has become thin. She was always the fat cat - the fat boss cat who would prowl about the house, keeping the other pets in line, handing out swats and issuing hisses as she deemed necessary and appropriate. But in the last couple of months, she has very gradually become thinner. She seems healthy enough in every other respect and she is still just as bossy with the other animals, but the other change is that she has become friendlier to me. She was never unfriendly, but she always favoured Isabel and Lorraine. However, the arrival of Lily (aka The Hellbeast, aka The FK - I'll let you figure that one out) resulted in a slow-motion shuffling of loyalties. From the start, Lily was Isabel's kitten. Lucy still wanted to be with Isabel, but she could not be in the same room with Lily, so after a few months of cats screaming at other cats, she stopped trying as hard. In the meantime, Gabi, the "middle cat", cemented her position as Lorraine's cat. Lucy and Gabi could have shared that role as they used to be best friends, but some subtle cat politics were at play wherein Lily's arrival cooled their relationship.

Enter me. I don't mind being third string.

I petted Lucy absentmindedly while checking my emails. When I was finished I looked more carefully at her. Yes, she was definitely not just thinner in the sense of happily no longer being fat, but thinner in the sense of possibly being too thin, making her look older than her almost thirteen years.

My thoughts then drifted to how she was snuggling. She never used to do that, at least not with me. It made me think of Kato, the cat Lorraine had when she was a student. Kato was a Siamese cross and was named for Inspector Clouseau's sidekick in the old Pink Panther movies. Like her film character counterpart, she would ambush you with frightening savagery at the most unexpected moments. I learned to enter Lorraine's place with extreme caution. When we moved in together it was to a pet free apartment and Kato went to live with Lorraine's parents. It was only much later, when we had a house and Lorraine's parents had passed on, that Kato came back to live with us. By this point she was a very old cat and she was a completely changed cat. No more ambushes. No more savagery. In her old age Kato had become mellow and affectionate. Letting her go when her time finally came tore our hearts out.

Lucy apparently had enough snuggling and stretched and sat up, looking about her. Lily had entered the far side of the room. Lucy tensed and jumped down. As she stalked towards Lily I took note for the first time how boney her hips were. Yes, I would have to take her to the clinic and run some tests. She had had a full check-up and blood tests within the last year, but a lot can change quickly in an old cat. Old cats need special attention and special love.

My grandfather lived to the age of 93. Shortly after he died I was talking to one of my uncles. I don't recall exactly what I said, but I must have implied that it is easier to let go when the deceased is very old. I may not remember what I said, but I do remember my uncle's reply very clearly:
"Philipp, just because someone is very old doesn't mean that you love them less. In fact, the older they are, the longer they have been part of your life and it is possible that you love them even more."

Happy Caturday Lucy, my old cat.