The week began with Carolyn and I finally caving in to the mounting evidence that our cat Ashley (yes I said it, 'our cat') was getting very weak and that it was time she be put down. We weren't real sure how much pain she was actually in, but her kidneys have been failing for some time and had finally gotten to the point she would hardly eat and was far from the plump, fluffy feline who moved in four and a half years ago. When I first met Ashley, she was the poster kitten for why people didn't like cats. Not fond of strangers, territorial, and known to hiss and bat at you at the slightest prodding. I went from a pretty neutral, uninformed view of cats to a very 'This thing will kill me in my sleep if she moves in with me!' stance fairly quickly. My only saving grace the day she moved in was the fact she was declawed as a small kitty and thus rendered fairly harmless. However, merely weeks after moving out of Carolyn's parents house (and away from a pre-teen and teenage boy), I had to admit 1) I was still alive, and 2) she was actually starting to grow on me. I did still have plenty to learn though, and at times she was not a patient teacher, but we got through it. Only pet to here, no sudden movements, and my least favorite, the kitty litter. She did earn her keep while we were in the apartment though. Getting up early one morning for work, I stumbled into the living room in the dark, as not to disturb Carolyn, and stepped on what was a very cold and wet substance I assumed 'her cat' had hacked up overnight, only to be proud when I discovered she had hunted down the little white mouse that had been spotted the week before. The true test for this cat, however, came roughly 8 months ago when one of those noisey little rugrats moved in that she had made very clear she was not a fan of. Just the sight of a human under the age of 3 would send her into full fledged battle mode and cause us to enforce a 2 room buffer zone between parties. However, when Emma came home, she only let out a suspicious growl and I believe she grew to enjoy her. Or atleast over these past 2 months, she enjoyed teasing her. Before Emma could crawl, she would boastfully circle Emma round and round like she was leading a parade, eventually leading to Emma coming to full frustration in her immobileness. The joke was on her the day Emma took off after her and got a handful of fluff before the poor kitty knew what happened though! This became quite the game around our house these last few weeks. Ashley enjoyed it. She would hang out just out of reach and taunt. Never once did she snip at Emma when she managed to get within arms reach. But she soon grew too weak for the game and spent most of her time curled up on our guest bed, primarily because it only sits only about 2 feet off the ground. An easy landing pad. After working off the wall hours, including what amounted to a 24 hour shift Tuesday, I managed to be off today, the Friday that came faster than most, but that I dreaded so much. I did not enjoy my role as the grim reaper. No matter how justifiable, its hard to pull the plug on your wife's childhood companion. The hardest part what having a set time. Friday at 4:30. All day the countdown was on. 6 hours, 4 hours, 45 minutes. Then it was time. Carolyn and Emma said their goodbyes and I took Ashley to the vet for the last time.
For not being a cat person, I'll miss the cat who 'tucked me in' for over 4 years. No more entering the room to an unexpected meow. No more paws knowing exactly where the bladder is so I will get up and feed her. No more watching Emma's face light up when the cat enters the room. No more hoping the kitty litter is clean enough to make it til next Sunday, for the first time since we've been married, when Emma goes to bed, its just the 2 of us.
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