Saturday, 6 August 2022.
Mocha has left to run with her ancestors. Vet records say she was over 21 years old, though we've really lost count ourselves. It wasn't like we adopted her, more like she adopted us. Back at our old place, we heard a commotion outside our front door. We opened it to find our big ginger block cat bullying this tiny white furball. He'd probably scratched the tip of her nose and she was never able to get rid of the scar after that. Of course we chased the bully away, and in walked this little one looking like she already owned the place. I've never seen markings like hers, all white with coffee-coloured saddlebags on both flanks, heart-shaped helmet, and the tail, all fluffed up like a squirrel's from her previous altercation. She owned us right then.
She's seen a lot with us since. We moved to our new place, which isn't so new any more. She outlived a couple of our previous other pets. Once we tried entering her in a "biggest cat" contest, at 4 whole kg, but she protested so much at being brought outdoors, so we left her at home. She would never have won, anyway. We thought she was big, but we had no basis for comparison. She would only have measured a quarter the weight of the champion.
Recently, the signs of her ageing slowly started showing. She looked increasingly fragile and unsteady as she walked. Her incontinence indicated a failing kidney situation, though she did make an effort to pee in the same spot which we lined with absorbent mats. There were the occasional accidents, but you know, old people. We took her to the vet two weeks ago hoping that she was just fighting a UTI, but on the follow up visit, she had visibly deteriorated. This time, the vet confirmed what we'd already suspected -- that she just needs to be comfortable while we wait out the inevitable.
We placed her on a towel in the living room floor so that she would still be in the midst of family activity. Personally, I hoped that she would pass in the house she had lived in for so long, in familiar surroundings, with familiar beings around her. And so, she did. I sat with her in her last moments, stroking her fur, keeping her assured that she wasn't alone. I kept at it, not knowing exactly when she'd gone. But the dog knew. All this time the dog sat apart from us, but just as I began to question Momo's lack of responsiveness, the dog quietly walked over and sat on my lap. I let her sit for a while then moved when I needed to stretch my legs. When I settled, the dog immediately sat on my lap again. Dogs seem to pick up and respond to human emotional cues. The other two cats were off doing their own thing.
The rest was procedural. We took her back to the vet to get her certified and arrange for cremation. We never keep their ashes since they have spent their lives keeping us company, so now they've earned the right to run with their ancestors.
