In Memory of Samantha
Samantha was an old cat. She had been a companion, a confidant, a source of
joy and love for the dozen years that I had known her. My earliest memories of
her are those when I was visiting the home of my wife to be. Samantha of all
the cats sought me out, with a penchant to drool when she was happy, I
invariably left with pant legs damper than when I arrived. A cat of intense
affection, she always took my sitting on the couch as an invitation to find
room
on my lap, climb my chest to butt her forehead against my face. Those times
when I refused her access to the lap, cuddling against my leg was
sufficient to
make her happy.
Samantha reached 19 years old this month of May. It seemed as if she was
saving up for this big event since as the month began, her health started on a
head long down hill slide.
The signs had become increasingly clear. The leap to the top of my desk, a
task that had been none to easy in the last year, to sit next to my
keyboard as I
typed, had become close to impossible. Her back end was hunched and the
legs stiff causing her to pivot on them to turn around, the weakness
causing her
to sway as she stood and stagger as she walked. She tripped on things and
when another of our cats brushed her she fell over. She had been urinating
more and more. She would tell me she was hungry all the time but finding the
tasty tidbit that she would eat became a challenge, though this had not
stopped
me from trying. I bought every type of cat food the store offered, as well as
many types of baby food. Some sufficed for a meal or two, some not at all.
Last week she took a walk. This was unusual as the number of times she had
been outside in the last two years could be counted on two hands, the last
time
she made it all the way down the stairs to the parking lot was not an event in
recent memory. But last week she went all the way down, twice. On one of the
occasions she wandered quite far afield, going down the stairs to the front of
the building and wanted to cross the street, in fact she was quiet
insistent on the
matter, avoiding all my attempts to deter her. I ended up carrying her across
and following her while she wandered.
The signs were clear, so clear even Vicki could not fail to see them. She
finally
agreed the time was here and made the call to the vet, Dr. Lisa as we call
her,
on Monday. They made an appointment for a mutually acceptable day, a full
work week from the day of decision. We had decided to have Dr. Lisa come
to our home to do the deed. Samantha always stressed when we took her to
the vet and we did not feel it fair to her to stress her with the trip to
the office.
Of course life is rarely as tidy as all that. Monday night and most of Tuesday
Samantha was much better and we asked ourselves if we were making the
right decision. But that Tuesday evening she began to meow incessantly, she
kept making attempts to get out the door and even looked as if she might be
thinking of jumping from an open second story window. She was restless and
would not eat. Then Wednesday at one point she lost almost all use of her hind
legs and I knew the decision was the correct one. For several hours she could
not walk properly her left back side leg acting as if it had gone dead. I
spoke
with Vicki at work and we agreed Samantha might not make it until Saturday.
Fortunately a good friend of ours, Jeanine, also works at Vicki's place of
employment. And was able to arrange to let Vicki have time off on Thursday to
come home early. Jeanine had just had her cat, Tutus, put to sleep a short
while ago and understood Vicki's need. The vet was amenable to the change of
schedule. Samantha kept crying and when ever I took a break from working I
would let her go outside with me. Outside she would just sit and watch the
world. As if taking in the sights for the last few times.
We pampered her during those last 24 hours. Making special treats, letting her
get on to places that she was not allowed due to 'accidents' and generally
trying
to make her as comfortable as possible. What had been a gray and gloomy
week turned sunny that Thursday afternoon, she sat in the sun for a time
warming her old bones. And she grew even weaker as the day progressed.
Once the vet arrived it was a short quick procedure and she went very quietly.
We told her what a good cat she was and how pretty she looked. And then
she was gone.
Vicki took her to a house of a friend of the family, in whose garden other
cats
from Vicki's family were buried. She had gathered rose petals to make a bed
for Samantha to lay upon and full flowers to place over her.
It will be awhile before the reality finally sinks in and I accept the fact
that she is
really and truly gone. She had been a companion, a confidant, a source of joy
and love for the dozen years that I had known her. Even now, as I sit in my
computer room, I hear her talking to me. Telling me what, I do not know, but I
know she listens to me when I tell her what a good cat she is... has been.
Don Glover
"Of all God's creatures there is only one that cannot be made the slave of the
lash. That one is the cat. If man could be crossed with a cat it would improve
man, but it would deteriorate the cat."
Mark Twain (1835-1910)