Xena Iris Rowdina passed away around 6:15 pm this evening from a pulmonary condition. The exact condition is unknown, but she suddenly weakened and the vet suspected cardiopulmonary failure or metastatic cancer. Since the bloodwork and X-ray needed to make the diagnosis would possibly kill her, it was decided to euthanize without the diagnosis. By 5:45 pm her condition had deteriorated to a point that I never saw in any other cat whom I brought to the vet for their last visit. She was sedated prior to euthanasia — she reacted worse to that needle than any other, but soon became comfortable (if stoned). I think she purred a bit before taking her last breath.
Enough about her death — it’s better to talk about her life.
Iris’ birthdate is an estimate made by the vet. She showed up at my apartment building skinny, in heat, on a raw rainy night, with mucous in her eyes. One of my neighbors let her into the building and set out a bowl of tuna, but Iris greeted me at the doorway with her low meow (F above middle C). She must have been an owned cat early in her life, but the kitten necklace around her throat was far too small for her. It was no mitigation that the necklace was in IU colors in a city defined by Purdue.
Iris had the face of the late Nermal Kinesis, my cat who had passed on January 31, 2005 with a snort. It was probably a coincidence, but why would a cat with a face like Nerm’s during adolescence show up in Building 19 of 23, especially when her longhair face would develop in a few months?
Spring break was coming and I had to leave, so the cat was taken to Almost Home Humane Society in Lafayette, Indiana.
I showed up a couple weeks later, wanting to see if she was okay...the shelter told me to monitor the adoption site. On Good Friday they gave me a call that she was ready for adoption several hours before her lovely face showed up on the adoption site. It took an hour to get there.
I gave Iris a weekend to explore the apartment without my presence, and by Easter Monday she had reconciled herself to her new station in life. On my birthday, she gave me the best present ever. She had been slipping out of the apartment just to be caught and returned, but on my birthday I heard her low meow at my door. I was her human.
Though I was her human, she really enjoyed visiting at my Mom’s larger house with a basement. By June I gave up the fight after she discovered an effective hidey-hole, and left her there with my mother and two other cats. She carried out her feline duties — Mom hated that there were dead garter snakes in the basement courtesy of Iris, but I don’t think Mom would have preferred live snakes.
When Bandit entered my life, Tango had exited Mom’s life, and there was an opening. Bandit hated the port-a-prison and was even better at eluding capture, so she became a Mom’s cat.
Iris’ most unusual habit was sitting on the kitchen table and rationing kisses. Most days, the ration was one kiss, but on Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter the ration went up to three kisses. Iris also claimed Mom as her territory, graciously condescending to assign me to Bandit.
The rapproachment between Iris and me began when PBS added Celtic Thunder to its pledge-week warhorses.
I whistled along. Iris jumped on my lap.
Mom passed away a few years later and I inherited the cats, who moved back in with me on June 1, 2010. (That was also the day a horrible tragedy took place in my neighborhood: a man who was laid off for two years purchased gallons of propane and gasoline, checked his cats into the animal hospital for boarding, then shot the tanks with the expected results. We were urged to leave lest any vapors made their way into our furnaces.)
One of my friends gave me a bed he no longer needed that had room for both cats to cuddle me, and until COVID made me a stay-at-home worker, most evenings we would play Telegraph. To play Telegraph, you need two friendly cats. Cat #1 (usually Iris) jumps one one side and starts purring. Put your hands on Cat #1 somewhere she enjoys having them. Cat #2 shows up on the opposite side. Put your other hand on Cat #2. Cat #1’s purrs travel through you to Cat #2, who responds by purring. You have now recreated the kittenpile.
Toward the end of her life, during COVID, Iris got religion. During Morning Prayer on the Daily Office site on Wordpress, a cantor would chant a short psalm at the beginning:
Psalm 95:1-7
Come, let us sing to the Lord;
let us shout for joy to the Rock of our salvation.
Let us come before God’s presence with thanksgiving;
and raise to the Lord a shout with psalms.
For you are a great God;
you are great above all gods.
In your hand are the caverns of the earth;
and the heights of the hills are yours also.
The sea is yours, for you made it,
and your hands have molded the dry land.
Come, let us bow down and bend the knee,
and kneel before the Lord our Maker.
For you are our God,
and we are the people of your pasture, and the sheep of your hand.
Oh, that today we would hearken to your voice!
Iris (usually) or Bandit would wake up and make their way to the computer and jump on as the cantor and I sang. Iris also loved “I Am the Bread of Life”. But dragging her to services on St. Francis’ Day was right out. Typical Episcopalian.
Here is a picture taken recently — she was around 14 years old at the time.