Not About Beads

Today is my kitty Samantha's 23rd or maybe 25th birthday. She has been with us for so long, we are no longer sure whether we adopted her in 1987 or 1989, when presumably she was about 8 months old.  We counted back and found ourselves approaching the end of August and decided, "Hey, we both have birthdays on 24th days of the month, the cat should have one too."  So we chose it for her.

I want to preserve her story in my blog today, because this summer, she has declined, and I don't know how much longer she will be with me.  She has always been a beautiful cat, and very petite.  At her prime, she weighed just over 8 pounds, and now, I think she has slipped under 5.  See the curled whiskers on her right side?  That is her sleeping side.  She has not groomed herself for years.  I do my best for her, but she does not like her legs or tummy groomed, so those parts get ignored as much as possible.  She does love to have her head rubbed, washed and combed, and her ears cleaned, so those things we do often.

We have gradually adapted her home, as her age has limited her movement.  Her food and litter box used to be in the laundry on the ground level of our split level home, but she has always liked to sleep on our bed, and the stairs got to be too much for her a couple years ago, so the box moved into our bedroom.  The food came up too, but to keep the dog from eating it, we had to build an enclosure that only Sam could enter.

And her sight is failing, so she needs a night light to find the castle door and her food inside.

Last fall, her arthritis made it difficult to get into the litter box, so we put the box on a waterproof bed pad, and began to put puppy training pads around the box for her to use.  Over the course of this summer, that group of pads has become an ocean of pads.  This is my side of the bed, this morning.

So, this is her life.  She demands one brand of cat food (the chicken pate flavor only) 8-10 times each day, by yeowling.  I can hear her from my studio, or anywhere in the house.  Occasionally she leaves the bedroon in quest for food, and sometimes, even manages to negotiate one short flight of stairs to find me, if I do not respond immediately.  The can of food is divided into sixths,

...because no more that a couple tablespoons are eaten at a time, and the rest goes to waste.  The food must be warm to be considered edible, so I soak the dish in hot water before putting the food in.  Then it is smashed with a fork to fully encorporate the stool softener/bulking agent that is her only medication, hopefully to the texture of fluffy mashed potatoes.

YUP.  That is a 101 Dalmations bowl.  The food must be oriented to only 1/2 of the bowl, because she can't reach the far side and I always like the dogs peeking at her when she eats.  She adopted this bowl after my son, who turns 20 this year, out grew it.  SO... she eats, but only as much as she can stand and bend over for, and then, off to the water cup (which she has had longer than the bowl) for a drink, and maybe, if her balance holds, a quick swipe of the paw in an attempt to wash her face.

She might then toddle to the sea of pads, but more often, she is just too tired, and curls up for a nap on the floor, no longer able to jump to the bed.

She is not in pain.  She is not sick.  But today, getting to her feet is a challenge.  I have to demonstrate for the Upper Midwest Beading Society at the MN State Fair this afternoon, and I feel badly leaving her.  But my son will be here with her, and can call me in a emergency, and keep her fed and comfortable.

She has been as faithful a companion as any cat chooses to be, for nearly all of her life.  It's hard for me to imagine how she ended up at the humane society, because she is an easy-going little creature.  If she has a fault, it's that she was only rarely a lap kitty, but many are not, and she has been affectionate with us on her own terms.  I know she has lived a full and long life, and it pleases me that she is still happy to purr when her head and face are groomed and petted.  But I also know she will not be with us much longer.

For my beading friends, yes, this is certainly a departure.  But I was told to use my new camera in preparation for my first photography class next week, and have done so for this post.  Indulge me.

POSTSCRIPT:  Samantha experienced a sort of feline stroke and was unable to swallow without choking.  On Sunday, September 16th, we took her to the emergency vet, where she was euthanized to end her suffering.