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Complex Numbers #646608 added April 23, 2009 at 5:58pm
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Maggie
MAGGIE
 
1994-2009
One of the reasons I haven't been around much lately is I've been dealing with the declining heath of my cat, Maggie.
She's never been much of a cuddler - with a few notable exceptions - but as her final illness progressed, she wanted nothing more than to sit on my lap as I watched videos. She didn't care much what videos she watched, so I've been going through Star Trek: The Next Generation. I think her favorite character was Data, because he had a cat, too.
These past few weeks, as I knew the end was coming, I've been spending more time with her, letting her sit outside in the sunshine, letting her wander around the yard as she did when she was a kitten. Different yard, same concept.
I got Maggie before my first marriage. My ex-wife thought she was her kitty, so she took Maggie with her. That's when I got Kali and Ghost, to fill the cat-shaped hole in my life. But then I got Maggie back because the ex couldn't deal with her - she was a mischievous little cat when she was younger.
One time, when I had severe neck and arm pain, I was lying in bed, trying not to move. Usually, Maggie would stay on the nightstand while I slept. Like I said, not much of a cuddler. But this time, she climbed up onto my chest and settled down just over the affected shoulder - and started purring, as if trying to make it better.
But Maggie had her dark side - she had a bad habit of not using her litter box, leaving messes in various locations. Not surprisingly, the humans with which I shared a house objected to this, and she was eventually relegated to a comfortable - but lonely - spot in the laundry room. I'd take her out to sit with me when I was on the computer or watching vids or whatever.
And then, as cats do, she started to slow down. She lost weight, and puked a lot. The vet said it was probably lymphoma, but they'd have to do invasive biopsies to be sure. I couldn't agree with cutting open a 14 year old cat just to do biopsies, on the hope that maybe she'd get another six months.
So I waited, and I watched, and I spent every moment I reasonably could with my problem child.
Today, she couldn't walk. And I took her to the vet for the last time. I stroked her and looked into her eyes until the lights went out in them.
Oddly enough, I'd never been there for a pet at the end, before. My old dog died on her own. All my other cats have wandered off, never to be seen again - no closure, just the realization that they're probably never coming back.
This time, there's no "probably" about it. No Schroedinger's Cat here, in any state of quantum - or ordinary - uncertainty; just the end of a crazy calico that no one but me could get close to.
She was a problem kitty, sure - but she was my problem kitty, and until I join her in the great unknown, there will always be someone who has a cat-shaped hole where Maggie should be.
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