Today we put down our cat, Cat.
She was seventeen, and her kidneys failed. For the last few days, she nested in a towel on a table on the porch, leaving it only to eat a few bites and pee on the floor. She didn’t appear to be acutely miserable, but she clearly wasn’t well. As hard as it is to put down an animal who doesn’t seem to be in pain, we preferred to do it before she got to that stage. There’s no recovery from renal failure.
She was an excellent cat, the right combination of affectionate and self-sufficient, and she had a good run. She spent her days chasing varmints, basking in the sun, and studiously ignoring the chickens. She wasn’t particularly food-oriented, but she loved popcorn and toast, and would put her dignity on the shelf to beg for them. She liked to hide behind the couch and pounce on us as we walked by. She talked a lot.
We were fond of her. She was our cat. We will miss her.
Here’s to you, cat.