My first ever real animal died today. Well, it had been dieing for the past week and a half, but today we finally had it put to sleep.
Took it to the vets, and he said that his kidney’s were failing. He said that he either got into anti-freeze or some kind of poison, or that, more likely, he had diabetes. Which, of course, sucks.
He also said we could’ve saved him, but it would’ve been extremely costly, for a cat that was only going to live a few more years anyways. He was approximately 12-13 years old, though his papers only said 11.
We got him when I was little; according ot his age, probably only 5-6. I don’t remember the exact year, but that falls about in line with what I remember. Either way, my Grandma’s co-worker had brought in a box of kitten’s to work, that her dog had found in a bag next to a stream nearby where they lived. The person must’ve either dumped them off thinking they’d just die, or they floated down the stream a ways before washing up on the shore. Either way, she brought home two kittens.
Well, we took one, he was a small orange guy. We debated over his name for literally two days, meanwhile me and my sister played with him. He was energetic in his early days, as most cats are. We finally decided on a name, that I proudly, to this day, boast as my own creation.
We named him Stimpy.
Stimpy was a wonderful cat. He was very low maintenance. He was an outdoors cat who loved the indoors, and he was very nice to everyone. He didn’t like his tail messed with, but I guess most cats don’t anyways. Either way, he lived happily, until we moved.
When we moved, Stimpy got scared, and hid. We couldn’t find him to save our lives. No amounts of calls would bring him (which normally would), and we couldn’t find him anywhere. So, chalking it up to the amount of vehicles coming and going from our house to our new house a couple blocks away, we left him, since we knew the people moving in would call us if he showed up.
Well, eventually he did, much to his chagrin he had to get adapted to our new house, which was, frankly, much bigger, but with a smaller yard. This confused him plenty, as our former yard was easily about an acre, with about another 20 acres of farm land behind it, give or take. So, he braved it, and continued on.
Then, he got stuck up a tree. Don’t know how he got up there, as he had never climbed a tree before. We got him down, eventually, much to my worrying that he was going to fall and break something.
Well, he fell, but he hit almost every branch on the way down, so it slowed him considerably.
Back to living happily.
Then, about two years ago, he got a nasty inner ear infection. He began listing to port (or starboard, I don’t really know which), and forced himself to walk along the walls. He also was afraid of using his back legs, so he seemingly dragged himself along on 3 legs at a time, sometimes only two.
I feared that he had been hit by a car. So, I took a day off of School, and with my grandpa (who still owns the other kitten that my grandma brought home, despite their seperation), we took him to the vets. He told us it was an ear infection, and that we could heal him up right with the medicine. We administered it with his food, and he got steadily better, even though he still stuck to the walls as though static cling held him there.
Yet, something changed. He got a lot less frisky, as though he was finally aware at his own mortality; he had been previously known to leap from our porch at oncoming squirrels, much to our laughter. However, now, he wouldn’t do anything excessive. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he lounged around when he was healthy too, but not to the extent that you could walk over him without him moving. Now, you could pick him up and move him and he wold only stare at you quizically, before going back to sleep.
So, about a month ago, he started acting weird again. I was told by my mom, since i’m at college at this time, that he hardly moves, and has begun using the litterbox much much much more often. So, I come home, to see the litterbox trashed, and my mom changing it on an almost daily basis.
I finally stop everyone and say that he needs to go. I dont’ want to say my family didn’t take care of Stimpy, because they did, they all loved it as much as me, however none seemed to have that same bond that me and my cat did. I’m not a dog person, and I wouldn’t consider myself a cat person, or a pet person at all. I just loved that cat more than anything else.
And so, today, at around 2 PM, my step dad came home and took him to the Vet’s. He called my mom around 3, and told her that Stimpy was no longer with us.
Yet, like any good cat, while my step dad said goodbye, he petted him, and he purred.
Thanks. I don’t honestly expect anyone to read this, I just needed somewhere to write it.
Edit; Since we don’t have the body anymore, I’m making a tombstone to add to my Pet Cemetery that we have outside, which houses my lizard that we had.
Also, since I’m a nerd, I made a lolcats for him, since the big guy loved to just sit on my lap and look at the pictures;