Our cat died last night. We'd had her for seventeen years, and she was at least a year old when we got her, so it was a long and comfortable life. Over the past few months she'd gotten cranky, yowling at intervals, especially at night, not from pain, thirst, or hunger, but just at life in general. She became totally deaf, which we could sort of tell wasn't her usual ignoring us. She never was an affectionate, in-your-lap (or face) kind of cat, but sometimes, usually when the sun warmed a patch of the floor, she would lie in the light and purr because life was good.
And finally, she stopped eating. She moved more slowly. Yesterday she wasn't able to walk, but just occasionally dragged herself from one part of the room to another, then lay quietly.
Because she didn't seem to be in any discomfort and because she was so terrified of car rides and doctors, we decided to simply let nature take its course. Jerry brought her water, which at first she lapped and then ignored. I petted her; in the morning she moved her head slightly against my hand, but by afternoon she didn't respond. And sometime during the night she died.
It was a peaceful death, for her and for us. This morning we took her body out into the woods for nature to continue to take its course.
But obviously, it isn't as simple as that. Besides our grief for her, there are the parallels that jump out. I'm not saying that my own death is immanent, but it is going to happen, we assume later rather than sooner, which goes without saying. (Look at all the denial in that sentence.) Do I look at Yeltsi's death as a kind of model? I think that anyone would want to die quietly, in little or no pain, with loving people around to give the last comforts.
But right now, there are thoughts I am not ready to think.
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What do you do when you find out you have pancreatic cancer? Tell everyone about it, of course. Why "green bananas?" Because we keep buying them as a sign of faith in the future. What do we need from you? Good thoughts and the occasional bad joke.
3 comments:
My condolences on Yeltsi's death.
I'm glad it was peaceful and I'll think of her and of you when I get home to my 15 year old cranky cat.
Peace.
A Toast To Yeltsi-
Funny, all these years that I've known you, I never knew that Yeltsi's name was Yeltsi. I opened your blog while quaffing a glass of white wine, so I raised my glass to a cat life well-lived, and to her human family, who loved her for what she was. Seventeen years of adding her own "part" to the sum of your household "whole." Thank God for cats. Cats make me understand why babies and small children like soft things. Cats teach us the power of the mysterious look. Seeing a cat flopped out on the couch makes me slow down and think about lying down with a good book. Winning a cat's regard is an accomplishment. I'm sure that Yelsi went easy---sleep well, Yeltsi.
I'm so sorry for your loss. I have dealt with the death of cats before, but I don't know what I'd do if the ones I have were to die any time soon. My cats have helped me survive my cancer. Even when I just wanted to lie down in bed and not get up at all, I had to get myself up and feed them and clean their bowls and sweep up after them and clean their litter box. It gave me something that I knew had to be done the next day. Even though I felt really useless sometimes, my cats still needed me.
At other times, they have been just what I needed to stop and slow down for a minute. When they sit down on my lap and go to sleep, I hate to interrupt their naps by making them move so that I can get up. It forces me to stay seated and just enjoy the moment.
I've learned so much from my cats. I'm so glad that you had many years of companionship from Yeltsi. I believe that our energy--some call it "spirit" or "soul"--goes on and on no matter what happens with our bodies. I hope that the part of Yeltsi that is eternal has now passed peacefully into the next phase of existence.
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