Regina Noctis

When Spot got sick, it started off as a very bad case of diarrhea. We tried to keep him seperate from the other cats, in case it was somthing contagious. The other cats seemed to get through okay.

Today we noticed that one of the other three has diarrhea now. And we don’t know which one.

Last year, a cat showed up in the yard. He was a stray, a bit skinny but otherwise healthy. Morris, my Manx, was often seen with him in the back yard. The new cat, a spotted tabby, would roll around on the grass and give Morris adoring looks. Morris, who had always run off any other stray that ever appeared in the yard, would just lie there doing his Sphinx impersonation. If the stray decided to nap, Morris would stand guard over him. It was really quite cute to watch. The new cat even managed to charm my mom’s Maine Coon, Whiskers. It wasn’t too long before both of them would be out there, one near the new cat’s head and one near his feet, acting as watchcats anytime the stray was asleep.

Watching all of this charmed both my mom and me as well. After several days of watching this, we decided to adopt him. The flashes of polka-dotted tummy that we’d seen while the cat was “flirting” on the grass made us decide to name him Spot.

Spot had been a stray for a while, and wasn’t very well socialized. We began with feeding him, and withdrawing to a distance that made him feel safe to come and eat, but still feel some human presence. He really wanted to trust us, and to be petted and made much of. You could see it in his body language. But his time as a stray had also taught him to be wary of humans. We persevered, and finally we began to be able to pet him as long as he was near the food bowl. It became his safe place. If we approached him anywhere else, he’d run.

Slowly, he began to lose his fear of us. We could sit on the step outside the kitchen door, and he’d come over to be petted. Much of the time, he seemed to need the affection more than the food we were giving him. He was always enthusiastic, sweet, and undemanding. If he saw us near his “petting place” he’d ask us if it was time for affection with a “Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrr?” He always looked so hopeful, and the long whirr was so cute, that it turned out that it was always petting time if he asked, no matter what we might have been in the middle of.

We began to place Spot’s food bowl just inside the house, always with the door open so he wouldn’t feel trapped. It took a while, but he began to feel comfortable in the kitchen. He even found what he considered to be his place – a small tiled triangle with windows on two sides, just above the kitchen sink. After some food and affection, he’d hop up there and curl up, watching out the windows, or else taking a nap. He was happy there. You could see it in his face. His needs were few and simple – some food, some petting, and that space in the kitchen. It was everything he wanted to be happy.

Shortly after we acquired the kitten Extra (who we believe is probably related to Spot, they have so many similar physical characteristics) Spot became sick. We took him to the vet, but he wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong. We began a long series of various treatments to try and fix the problem. Spot would respond to each treatment for two or three days, giving us hope that he was getting better. But then the medication would stop working despite continued doses, and he would become weaker. He lost weight, so you could feel every rib and every vertebrae in his back. His neck was thin, his chest and legs lost muscle, deep divots appeared in his sides just in front his back legs. But his sides, between his front legs and those divots, began to bloat. He reached the point where he’d just lie there looking miserable, hardly moving except when we put a bowl of food in front of him. We had tried several different treatments by this time, and nothing ever worked more than two or three days.

Early Friday morning, my mom went to pet Spot, and overnight he’d worsened more than ever. His sides were still bloated, but when she petted him he felt like nothing but loose skin over bone. He was obviously in pain. We decided that we couldn’t force him to suffer like this anymore. Nothing was working, and he was dying a slow death from whatever it was that had begun two months earlier. We decided that the time had come to put him down, since his quality of life had become so bad.

Before the vet opened for the day, however, my grandmother put Spot out. And he disappeared.

We spent Friday looking for him. We never found him, and he didn’t show up at the normal dinnertime for the household felines. We thought that he’d found a hidden place to die, as terminally ill cats often do.

When he didn’t show up for either the feline breakfast or dinnertime on Saturday, we were positive he was gone. We went out looking for him several times on Saturday anyway, but couldn’t find him anywhere. He was certainly nowhere in the yard.

At six Saturday evening, we heard a cat crying. It was nothing like a normal meow. It was faint, but it was obviously pained. We went looking, and found Spot. He was on the grass in the back yard, near the place where we’d first seen him with Morris. He was lying on his side. He was still breathing, but it was shallow and rapid. His eyes were open, and he had stopped blinking. He seemed to be incapable of moving, except for that pitiful crying. We tried giving him some juice from a can of catfood, but he couldn’t even swallow. His body was already growing cold, even though he was still barely alive. We thought that we were seeing his last few minutes, and sat down to pet him and give him what comfort we could in his last moments. His crying stopped for some time, and we thought that that would be it. He didn’t appear to be conscious anymore, and he seemed to be so far gone he couldn’t feel the pain anymore.

But he just kept holding on, as weak as he was. And eventually, the pained meowing began again. We couldn’t let him suffer. The only vet here in town was long since closed, so I volunteered to drive Spot to the emergency clinic in Bakersfield to have him put down.

I called ahead to the clinic to let them know I was coming in, and somehow saying it made it all real. I got choked up on the phone, and was crying by the time I hung up. Mom decided that I’d need someone to help me with it since I was starting to fall apart a bit, so she came along for the ride.

Spot was quiet for most of the 45 minute trip, but did start crying again when we were partway there. I’d been holding it together until then, and almost started crying again while barrelling down the highway at 80 miles an hour. Not the best of time for blurred vision from tears. So I managed to fight it off.

We got to the clinic, and they took Spot into the back. I said my goodbyes, and could hear him crying again as they took the carrier through the door. They asked if either of us wanted to be a witness to Spot’s final moments, but neither of us could do it. When they brought the empty carrier back, I almost burst into tears in the middle of the clinic reception area.

I know he’s not suffering, and I’m glad that his suffering is over. We have no idea what it was that was killing him, but his pain is over and that’s good.

But I keep remember him rolling around in the grass, flirting with my Manx and flashing a polka-dotted tummy toward us as we watched, and I miss that sweet little cat.