I had to say goodbye to a old friend today and my heart is broken.
When I lived in San Diego, CA. back in 2000, I had wandered into this petstore called "California Pets" I usually try to stay out of those stores because they upset me with all of the caged animals and I want to take them all home and save them. And I can't. But I heard this itty bitty meow and turned around. There was this tiny little kitten. He looked like he couldn't even weigh a pound. He looked at me with his green eyes and meowed the loudest meow he could muster up. I went to the counter an asked about him. The cashier said he was the runt and last one of his litter left. She said he had a bit of a bladder infection and they were going to put him down at 5:00 PM that day if no one wanted him.
I told her I would take him (she actually gave me a discount.) The minute I picked him up and held him close he burried his head into my neck and purred. I knew it was fate.
I brought him home and gave him a bath. He always would pivot on one foot when he got a bath. Couldn't let that one foot touch the water. Kenya hated him. She would hiss and spit at him. That really didn't bother him much, he just wanted to be friends. He would get in my closet and try to attack my jeans. To this day I have to keep jeans folded up and in a drawer.
He was scared of most things. He loved tuna fish out of the can. The minute you started to open the can, he was under your feet chittering away about it. He would lick the stickies off the backs of stickers and tape...for hours. He chased his tail like it was out to get him. He liked to lick the water droplets off of the shower door. Every night he was sit at the top of the stairs and meow at my husband to get upstairs to take a shower. And then one night, not too long ago, he stopped.
I didn't see him for a few days, which wasn't uncommon with him. I went to wash my face one night and he was sitting on my bathroom vanity. He looked dirty and skinny. I felt his sides and he was all skin and bones and you could see his undercoat. That is a huge red sign for cat owners. If they don't clean themselves something is wrong.
So we went to see our vet Dr. Greg Bobo. Puck was diagnosed with Liver Disease. Dr. Bobo said I could treat him at hoime and there was a good chance he'd get better within a few days or weeks. So i force fed him baby food in a syringe and administred saline IV's once a day so he'd stay hydrated.
This morning I woke up, and went into my closet. There was Puck, curled up in a ball sleeping. I said "Goodmorning Buddy" and he didn't respond. I went to pet him and he jerked up. He didn't hear me. He wobbled over to his litter box to potty and stumbled out of it and laid on the floor. I looked down at him and knew. I couldn't help him anymore no matter how hard I tried and he couldn't go on like this. It wasn't fair.
So now, Puck is in a place where he can lick stickies all day long and attack jeans. He can chase his tail and there will be thousands of shower doors for him to lick. And of course, his ultimate dream of eating as much tuna as he can hold.
I think I might plant a little tree for him in my back yard.
He was only eight years old.
He was a good boy, a good cat.