Just Cured - Experience Fine Foods

You came into our lives just shy of 15 years ago.† You arrived through the woods behind our home and staked out your claim beneath the bird feeder that now stands empty.† You were so attentive as I watched from the family room window, you crouched stone still below that feeder.† You would observe the comings and goings of hundreds of birds, cataloging the behavior of each.† You waited for the visit to your side of the feeder of just the right bird, one that dipped below the level of the feeding perch on its departure.† On the first flutter of its wings after eating its fill, you sprung straight into the air.† With a front paw at full extension, you clubbed that bird to the ground, and on landing raked it with your rear claws.† Mercifully (for me, at least) you carried your prey into the woods to consume your prize.

Thus was our introduction to you.† Unlike little Mitten, our cat at the time who preceded you from those same woods by four years, you were friendly from the start, following one or the other of us around the yard waiting for a rub or scratch.† It was inconceivable to us that a cat of such sweet disposition was homeless.† We fashioned a collar for you containing a note for your owner to call us.† We scoured the “lost pet” columns of the local papers, looked at signs on utility poles, and called local veterinarian offices.† No one claimed you.

You were short in two dimensions with stubby little legs and a squat frame, nothing at all like the lanky and lithe Mitten.† We were sure you were not yet fully grown.† Imagine our surprise when we learned that you were five years old (according to our vet’s examination of your teeth), neutered and front declawed (very poorly as your paws were like mush).† Someone had owned you and abandoned you.† Why, we have never been able to imagine.

We took you in and have been all the richer for having done so.† We named you Boris, after the cartoon character Boris Badenov.† You resembled him so.† Your coat looked for all the world like you wore a black suit with white spats and gloves and a white shirt.† From below your eyes, your face was bright white, but you had a tiny black goatee.† Together with Mitten, you looked a bit like Boris and his sidekick Natasha, she so long and thin.

We laugh every time we think of your first night in the house.† We were quite concerned about how Mitten would accept you and how you would treat her.† A book on introducing a new cat suggested that we ignore you for a couple of days and fuss over Mitten.† The entire day we treated you like a piece of furniture or a sweater left by a guest.† That night, we confirmed that you were downstairs and closed the doors to our bedroom.† Imagine our surprise to awake in the middle of the night to find both you and Mitten curled up together in our bed.† Evidently you sneaked into the closet or under the bed while we closed the bedroom up “cat tight.”† The two of you were inseparable from that moment forward.

You instinctively understood Mitten’s physical and emotional fragility.† Her time on her own in the “wild” taxed her to her limits, and her personality reflected it the rest of her life.† In demeanor, you deferred to her need to feel primacy.† In play, you could have overpowered her at any time; yet you always permitted her to initiate play, and when we heard a yowl of “enough,” it was unfailingly you pinned to the floor.

About seven or eight years ago, you presented symptoms of feline herpes virus (FHV-1) infection in your eyes.† Thus began a constant struggle against the virus and recurring outbreaks.† Depending on the state of the virus, you received no fewer than three medication doses (huge pills, oral anti-viral liquids, topical anti-viral eye drops, gel tear replacement drops) every day since.† During active outbreaks, you took as many as fourteen doses of medicine.† No one believes us when we tell them how bravely and willingly you took all that medication.† For you, the extra attention and time on a lap made the indignities of being pried, squirted and dropped worthwhile — the treats offered at the conclusion were merely a bonus in your opinion.

When Mitten died just over four years ago, you lost your best friend.† For weeks, you toured the house looking for her in all her favorite places.† Truth be told, so did I; to this day, I can still catch myself looking across to her favorite chair as I start up the family room stairs, expecting to see her snoozing there.† You recognized that we felt her loss too; since her death, you have been much more cuddly in your affection, particularly toward your mistress.† You simply couldn’t wait for one of the other of us to sit to watch television or read a book; you were right there to sit beside or on a lap.† I will never forget the feeling of anguish I had as I left the house on that first Monday morning after Mitten died — and realized that until that moment you had never, not for an instant, been alone in the home we shared.

As cats go, you were ancient, 20 or so years old.† And yet, until several days ago, you acted like a much younger cat.† We knew all was not right when you couldn’t fight off the herpes outbreak that began in the late summer.† Historically, you became symptom free within weeks of our ramping up treatment.† This last outbreak lasted through the fall and into the new year.† Was it just a sign of your age or was something competing for your strength and the efforts of your immune system?† You also began to lose interest in food generally, something we had never experienced before.† Through this episode, you remained yourself in every other respect — active, cheerful, playful, affectionate.

Ten days ago, you and I visited the vet to check out your disinterest in eating.† You seemed hungry, but no food particularly appealed to you.† You were eating, but barely enough.† He reported that you had all the appearances of a much younger cat.† Yet, he was clearly as concerned as we were that there was something quite bad lurking.† We tried many simple things that might help you and got you the nutrition you needed.

The vet was right to be concerned.† This weekend, everything changed.† Your gait became unsteady and uncoordinated.† You acted confused and out of sorts.† You were tired, but didn’t sleep. You were obviously uncomfortable.† Those symptoms became progressively worse.† Your body was failing you before our very eyes.

Letting you go was among the most difficult things I have done.† We simply were not willing to let you suffer any more or any longer.† We made the decision on Monday and you knew.† You had a quiet day, better than the past several.† You slept a bit and spent the day alongside or on a lap.† If you weren’t wet from splashing water from your bowl trying to drink, you were damp from our tears.† I know we did the right thing, but the pain today is enormous.† I can only imagine the first day I come home from work and you are not at the kitchen door reminding me that you have been home alone all day — and that it is past time for your supper.

Boris, you were a gift that we well treasured.† And we will treasure your memory forever.

Requiem in Pacem, Boris.† As for me, forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit.

Boris, March 2008