For the first time in 47 years, I am not sharing my home with a cat. We had to put our nearly nineteen-year old cat Blinky down yesterday, and the pain still resonates within me. Blinky had pretty much stopped eating over the last week. With great work, he showed some appetite for plain tuna in water, just the sort of thing that would trigger his thyroid condition. We had made the appointment for the veterinarian yesterday, and he confirmed Blinky had lost 25% of his body weight just in the past two months. Dr. Patton helped us through the process, as he had with several other cats before Blinky. We brought him back to his home in a bag for burial today along with his predecessors out in our woods.
We had managed older cats with thyroid issues for a while. Blinky’s brother, Napoleon, did not die of thyroid issues, but of lung cancer nearly 4 years earlier. We had managed Blinky’s care with prescription food that kept iodine out of his diet. We should have taken more notice when he quit eating the dry food a few months ago, but his appetite for the canned food seemed adequate. Then he had a stretch where he wouldn’t eat anything, so we got some canned tuna to try to tempt him into eating anything. That seemed to work, so we also tried canned chicken since it should have less iodine (still trying to keep his thyroid in check). But even that failed, and we were forced to go to plain tuna in order to try to keep him going.
It is hard when you have been the protector, and the source of all things good for an animal, but you realize you can’t help him anymore. He would look at me patiently, assured that I could make it better, but I couldn’t. His plaintive meows indicated he wanted food, but when he was given some he just sniffed it and licked it, then turned away. He liked the thought of food, but his appetite was gone.
Cats are hedonists. They revel in their own pleasures, and if you can help that by providing food they like, a warm lap to sit in, a place where they can catch rays of sun, then you are fulfilling your duties as a cat parent. When Blinky’s brother died, we knew this day was coming, when our hedonistic cat no longer found pleasure in his life’s activities. We could have waited for a completely natural end. But we were certain that would have caused pain and suffering, and Blinky did not deserve that. So with tears in our eyes, we drove to our veterinarian’s place of business (I have tears running down my cheeks as I write this). Normally we would be accompanied on this drive by a strong string of complaints, but this time the complaints seemed half-hearted, and totally stopped for a good portion of the drive.
Blinky had a long and I’d like to believe a happy life. For nearly 15 years, he shared our house with his brother, until cancer claimed him. We met him and his brother when they took up residence in the engine block of a car that our neighbor across the street was ready to junk. We took Blinky and his brother in, segregating them for a few days until we could get a clean bill of health from our vet (the same Dr. Patton), and then introduced them to our other three cats. Over the years, the others departed, leaving the two thyroid challenged cats alone. Finally, with Napoleon’s death, we were down to a single cat. We would have gotten more, but the logistics of trying to deal with feeding where you wanted to keep the $50 bag of cat food away from any cat without dietary restrictions kept us from getting any more cats.
For years, Blinky and his brother were the champions of their realm. Then, a cat (Harold) moved in across the street, and their reign came to an end. Instead of keeping our yard clear of voles and chipmunks, the cats became reluctant to go outside. We still remember the time Blinky appeared on our kitchen’s window ledge, making that weird noise when their mouth is occupied with prey. Blinky had a chipmunk, and was so proud of his accomplishment. He put the prey down, and accepted praise, but as soon as he put down the chipmunk, it vamoosed. Just playing possum in its own desperate attempt to survive.
Blinky took about two days to tell that the heat was turned on each year in the fall. He had his own heat vent he claimed as his own. Since he was a black cat, he brought back my thermodynamic memories of black body radiation, and I often wondered about the equilibrium temperature he achieved by absorbing the heat, then distributing it back.
There is a whole range of Blinky stories we hold in our hearts and memories, like the time when he was still a kitten, but had managed to climb up our butternut tree and get temporarily stuck. He was at eye level with us on our deck, which with the slope of the yard, meant he was up about 20’. That was a time he was able to get down himself, and he never got stuck up a tree again.
We will undoubtedly get new cats. As Carrie posted the news about Blinky on Facebook, we became aware of a bunch of kittens ready for adoption in about a month. The number of available cats almost always exceeds the number of loving households to take them in. But when they do enter your life, it is amazing how much they can integrate into your heart. Especially if you have nearly nineteen years to share with them. Rest well, Blinky. We miss you.
Even A Broken Clock 