It looks like Mary is dying. Mary is our 17 year old ginger kitty, the kitten of a feral cat we rescued shortly before Mary's birth. Mary is up in my bedroom right now, sleeping in a towel lined box in her preferred perch of the table in the front dormer, right in the window.
I'm not sad, at least not the same level of sad I was when the end came from Little Bit. Little Bit was like a child to me, Mary was more the kids cat as they were growing up. While she's stayed here after the kids both went off to college and launched into adult life she's just not in my heart like Little Bit was.
Yeah, I know, that's all sorts of heartbreaking to even admit to, having furry children favorites. I held her in my hands minutes after her birth and she's always trusted me, turning to Jim and I more and more as the years passed and the kids moved on.
She's dying in my bedroom, right across the hall from the room she was born in. The circle of life.
I will miss her cuddling up with Jim or I when we get very ill. I'll never forget how she stayed with Jim for over 24 hours when he came home from a week in the hospital with kidney failure. She stayed cuddled up to him with her paw gently touching him.
I won't miss her deplorable habit of trying to wake me up to pet her. I've accidentally on purpose punted her off the bed more than once.
Just like Little Bit she's getting more and more confused. This weekend she went from the occasional accident to completely confused as to the location of the litter box. She's decided the tub in the master bath is the perfect place to do her business. After scrubbing the tub out I put a small litter box for her right in the tub. I also set up food and water for her right next to her favorite sleeping spot. I've been seeing signs of confusion, possible blindness, her sudden inability to climb up or down the stairs and a million other little signs that the end is near. The vet cannot see her till Tuesday morning and she's eating and drinking a little bit and seems as happy as she ever has. It's just old age.
I'm going to miss her nice ladylike ways, her fastidiousness, and her acceptance and love of our family. This is the part of responsible pet companionship I hate. But I'm not going to allow her to suffer. We delayed way too long with Little Bit and he suffered at the end.
One nice thing about being post-quiverfull is there's no one around to claim I have an unnatural attachment to my animals or that only God gives or takes life.