We had both cats and dogs when I was growing up, but none of them died of old age. They didn’t live long enough. Living on a four lane road, most came to their end in traffic. I remember one cat got wedged between a split rock for two days before we found her and had the vet put a metal framed cast on her. She lugged it around pretty well while it healed. We had one cat named Spastic, named for his epileptic-like state. He only lived about a year and one sunny day when I returned from school he was lying by the front door dead. We also as a family viewed helplessly as one cat choked to death on a chicken bone. A pretty disturbing experience and we could do nothing. So for anyone who tells you it’s okay to give poultry bones to pets, I wouldn’t recommend it.
Our Chinese police guard dog, a German Shepherd named Hoshee, was a great dog to have for protection for us small kids as living in a suburb of Boston a lot of the riff raff tended to venture out from the city. Unfortunately she also bit every person who came to our house in a uniform, mailman, milkman, you name it. She used to kill the garter snakes and prehistoric looking snapping turtles that would venture up from the swamp nearby our house. She also killed the chickens of our neighbor vet. When she disappeared we suspected the vet had had enough. Really as an adult I wonder why my parents kept such a dog. When I see lunging, aggressive dogs now I don’t usually think much of their owners.
So now I get to watch the old age process and declining state of Abraesca, our 22 year old tabby. She’s had a few close calls, a rotweiller grabbed her by the back once and two times we had to pay ransom to the humane society to retrieve her. She learned at a very young age not to cross the street, any street, and so she has reached old age. I’m told feeding her dry cat food all her life has also probably added to her longevity.
My kids would tell you I’m detached from reality for not putting her down long ago. They say she’s miserable and would be happier dead. Well I don’t know what it’s like to be dead, and I don’t even know if cats have souls, so I’m not convinced. My problem is that I think of what I’ll be like in old age and how I’d feel if someone got tired of taking care of me and decided to put me out of their misery. She is decrepit, no doubt, and can’t do much except sit around and sometimes cry. But when it’s warm and sunny and I see her through the kitchen window lounging on the patio, I have to think she enjoys it. I know I enjoy lounging in the sun. So the saga continues. I keep hoping one day I’ll find her dead of old age, going in her sleep peacefully, but somehow I don’t think I’m going to get off that easy. Not that’s it’s easy. We’ve had to barricade her in the kitchen so when she doesn’t quite make it to the litter box it’s not a big deal to clean up. But it’s not pleasant. I think it’s a real moral dilemma, a test for which I’ll be judged. How many more years could she possibly live? Well, I worked with a woman who had a cat that lived to be 25, so it doesn’t bode well for me.
