Minerva

We had to have the cat euthanized today.  Her kidneys had failed, and she was in terrible shape.  The vet said she would have died at home very soon if we had not done anything.  I don't have very many pictures of the cat, but the first one posted here is the second picture I took with my camera, and it's a pretty good picture of her.  The second picture was taken this morning.  Her eyes are closed, and she could barely move, but that picture is more how we will remember Minerva -- in Lucas's arms, her favorite place.

Minerva was our first pet, long before we had any dogs.  She came from someone who knew someone who worked with Jackie who had a litter of kittens to give away, and I liked her because she was pretty.  We named her Minerva after Minerva McGonagall, Harry Potter's teacher who could turn into a cat.  (Our first dog was named Lily after Harry's mother; then we inherited Jackson and Emmett with non-Harry-Potter names and ended that tradition.)

Lucas was six when we got her, and I remember that in the first day or two we could not find her even though we looked in every corner of the house, and we kept asking Lucas if he had let her out.  At one point he told me that he wished we had never gotten the cat, because he was upset that we thought he had let her get away.  It turned out that she was inside the torn fabric on the underside of an old loveseat that I brought to the marriage, and that was a favorite hiding place for years.

But Lucas got over being sorry that we had a cat, and the two of them developed an amazing bond over the years.  I have always had a pretty good way with cats.  Woofie, our cat when we were kids, stayed away from most people but would at least sometimes come to me.  Centime, my brother's cat that most people thought was outright unfriendly, would come running to me when I came over.  And Minerva tolerated me well enough, as long as I did what she wanted.  I could pet her on the stairs, and she did like that, and she would lay on the floor in front of the pantry or in our bathroom, but if I tried to pet her anywhere else, she would walk away.  If she came in my bed, she would usually stay out of reach, then leave quickly.  If I picked her up, she wanted down, and if I held her too long, she would take a swipe at my face.  She would never stay in my lap.  If I called her, she usually ignored me.  She was a bit less friendly toward Jackie, and she ignored Jarrod altogether, except that she liked to poop in his room.

But she loved Lucas, and he adored her, and that is what really hurts about losing this particular pet.  Lucas is a quiet kid without a lot of close friendships, and his relationship to the cat meant something to him.  She slept in his bed every night and stayed in his room a lot, her sanctuary from the dogs.  He could pick her up, hold her upside down, and she was perfectly content.  She would lay in his lap while he petted her, and often he would just take her into his room and stay with her for long stretches.  When she slipped out of the house at night, lots of times when I couldn't find her or get her to come back, he would go out and call her, then bring her back in.  Lucas was her favorite, and nobody else even came close.

And here's the really sad part.  When I got up Friday and Minerva was just laying on the floor, I knew she was really sick, and I wanted to get her to the vet quickly, before she died.  She held on, and Lucas took her to the vet that afternoon.  They took some blood, gave her an IV, and when Jackie picked her up, they said if she made it through the night, they would know more in the morning.  Her body temperature was way low, she was dehydrated, she wouldn't eat or drink, and she could barely move.  I didn't really think she would last the night, but we gave her to Lucas, and I told him his job was to keep her alive all night.  He gave her water using a syringe, kept her covered in blankets, and stayed with her all night, and to my surprise (and it turns out the vet was surprised as well), he did it.  She was still alive this morning.  It seemed like a little miracle.  Then the vet called around 9:30, and it was kidney failure, and it was all for naught.

We took some pictures, Lucas kept her a little longer, then I asked if he was ready to let her go and took her away.  He wouldn't go with me.  Jackie says that I handle these things better than the rest of the family, but I don't think so.  I just have to do them.  I was actually falling apart, including at the vet.  But I took her in, and although I did not stay with Lily when I took her, I stayed with Minerva until the end.  I always felt a little guilty about Lily, that in her last moments she was with strangers.  I rubbed Minerva's head until I could see that she stopped breathing, then rubbed it some more after she was gone and they left me alone with her.  I started to leave, then went back and smoothed her fur where I had left an impression in it, then left her on the table, laying still with her eyes open.  She was still a pretty cat.

And now, of course, life goes on for the rest of us.  Cats don't take a lot of care, but there will be a few things to put away -- the litter box, her food dish amd water bowls.  Jarrod doesn't need the gate on his door anymore to keep her out, and we don't need to lift up the gate that keeps the dogs upstairs at night so she can crawl under.  There is some cat food that the dogs will eat.

Another day, probably soon, the disappointment of today will fade, and we'll just be glad we had a cat who worked out so well.  Pets are like that; they live fairly short lives.  The thing I feel best about is that Lucas had the experience of growing up with a cat, and I suspect that there will be more cats in his future.  Still, he may never find another who likes him, and only him, the way this one did.