I have had cats for all of my life except for a maybe five years in the late seventies. My eighth cat, Sweetie, died in February. I wondered about getting another one in that I am 80 years old. Most of my indoor cats have lived close to 20 years and I didn't want to die and leave my cat in a lurch. Maybe I should not have any more.
But it gets lonely living all by yourself. Sometimes my cats would come greet me when they heard the key in the lock, though more often they would just lift their sleepy lids and then drift back off. But still they were glad to have me around to amuse them or do some little chore for them. So I'm pretty sure they were happy to see me come home. It put a little pep in my step coming home knowing somebody would be glad to see me when I arrive.
Knowing that nobody cared whether I came home or not was depressing. Maybe I could get a ten year old cat, that would give me pretty good odds I thought.
Scanning the anti cruelty and the pound and a local place called Paws it didn't seem like they had any cats of that age. In fact most all of the cats were like one year old. I suspected that they might be lying because most people will prefer a younger cat, but I don't know.
A lot of people in Marina City have cats, and since the apartments are all the same it might be less traumatic for the cat to move to another apartment rather than crosstown or whatever. Almost on a whim I put a post on the Marina City fb page, and a week later I got a reply.
There was a woman, Bea, who had been doing a lot of cat sitting for a guy in the towers and he had died recently and she took his cats in. She also had a cat of her own who had diabetes and her cat and the new cats didn't get along, and she was living in a studio apartment.
I had only been expecting to get one, but two were even better. She brought them over and they looked good enough for me and she left them with me. Oh this was a great deal. Good for Bea because it made her situation so much easier. Good for her cat because now it could get uninterrupted care, Good for the other two cats because now they had a whole one bedroom apartment to run around in, and good for lonely Ken.
The two sisters, (Gibby, who I renamed Georgia, and Addison who I renamed Daisy) who records indicate are from the same litter were very skittish at first, hiding in nooks and crannies only their scared eyes showing. But after a week they got a little adjusted, Georgia, much more than Daisy. In a new home cats always act like they have been kidnapped by an evil demon and scurry off at the sight of you, but after awhile they get used to you and it becomes their home where they can saunter as they please.
Georgia began jumping on my art table and jumping into my lap when I took to the Lazy Boy. What a wonderful deal this had been. I had a happy home again.
But then one day I noticed that Georgia wasn't eating anything, and then the next day she didn't eat either. The internet said if your cat has not eaten in two days you should take her to the vets.
The vet gave her nutrients and some fluids and an appetite stimulant, and I brought her home, but still she was not eating, then she vomited a big pool of yellow green and the vet said to bring her in. She probably had diabetes, and she was in poor shape and needed to go into the hospital for probably a couple days. This was Friday, then Saturday, then Sunday. Diabetes, maybe heart trouble, maybe her kidneys. She was lethargic, and then pepped up a bit, and then another step back.
Monday morning I was to take her home. She definitely had diabetes, which meant I would have to give her two shots a day, and there were some other issues that likely would have to be dealt with, oh and a shitload of money gone. But I would be happy to be be bringing her home, bringing a sick sweet kitty home.
That morning I had to wait for Walgreens to open so I could pick up some insulin to bring with me to the hospital. They didn't open until nine and I was just out the door, just locking the door behind me when the vet called. Not good, and now a blood clot. They wanted my permission to ease her way over the rainbow bridge.
Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
Um, okay, sure I understand, you did the best you could, and I know you are sorry and all, and what can you do?
Shit.
Fuck.
It was hard all that day, but by the next morning I was like well, life has to go on. But it still comes back to me from time to time. I only had her for about a month, and she was only friendly to me for about a week, but it still gets to me in unexpected moments.
Life goes on.
We are all penciled in.
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