One of the hardest things to do is to put a beloved pet down. Today we put Malijah to sleep. He was a 15 year old cat, according to his vet, almost 80 in human years. His human family was in attendance. He had kidney failure and there was nothing that could be done to save him. We could only alleviate his suffering. Of course in the process a hole has been left in our lives, such a huge hole for a small creature weighing no more than eight pounds.
He was a medium haired cat, patchy gray and white fur, lean and powerful. The white fur bright as new fallen snow, so fussy was he in his grooming. His eyes were light hazel. He loved catnip, salmon, and the taste of chocolate. He liked to play with pens and pencils. He liked to take a stinky dump in the middle of the night and he loved to cuddle. He complained when it was cold and loved to bask in the warmth of a sunny day. He hated his yearly visits to the vet and the carrier that took him there even more. He howled the entire hour there and back. My husband and I had struck a deal years ago. He took the cat to the vet and I paid the bill. We were both satisfied with the arrangement.
Malijah started life out on the streets of Denver, Colorado. His mother was a stray alley cat and for the first six months of his life he was abused by his first owner. My oldest daughter rescued him and he became her cat. He lived with her as a city cat, rarely leaving her apartment.
One day he got out of the apartment and was hit by a car. My daughter called me in tears. She was at an emergency animal hospital and needed $350.00 to save a leg from being amputated. I had a friend with a very happy three legged cat. So I told her that a three legged cat was as good as a four legged one. I know, I know – I felt bad about it afterwards. Her appeals to my motherly heart won out. I relented and gave the hospital my credit card number. Malijah’s leg was saved.
A few years later she needed to move with Malijah to another town, so we loaded my daughter, her belongings and Malijah into a truck and headed closer to the mountains. I remember how shy he was, hiding in cracks between boxes in the back of our old suburban. We were worried that he would somehow escape before we could get him and our daughter unloaded into their new abode. But, he was tenacious and his life experience thus far had made him a survivor. He settled into his new home, with his beloved owner. He knew that if he stuck with our daughter life could never be as bad has it had been.
Another move a few years later found him and my daughter living with a roommate and her gigantic dog. Marmaduke comes easily to mind. By this time my daughter and Malijah were inseparable and I was just as worried about how Malijah would adjust to his new situation as my daughter would to hers. He was 6 years old and a member of our extended family. It didn’t take long and Malijah had that big galoot of a dog eating out of his paws. My concerns that he would end up as doggy chow were put at ease.
Another life event found Malijah living with my husband and me on a temporary basis, until my daughter’s living arrangements became more settled. He stayed with us for three months and it was rough, as we had a spoiled Springer Spaniel mix, Willow, who didn’t take kindly to the furry little interloper. I thought for sure, a few times, that we would come home and find Willow waiting smugly behind the front door, tufts of gray and white fur around his mouth. But, one day I saw something truly amazing.
My husband had grilled some pork chops and Willow, loved pork chops. So we chopped one up for him and put it in his bowl under the kitchen window sill. We also chopped some cubes for Malijah and put them in a little plate on the window sill. I was in another room when the tell tale, horse at the trough, sound of Willow munching had quieted. I thought I better keep an eye out while Malijah finished his meal. When I stepped into the kitchen I witnessed Malijah batting the cubes of meat into the air, while Willow caught the flying chunks in his mouth. From that day forward Willow had only very large brown eyes of adoration for that cat.
All of us including Willow found ourselves missing Malijah when he returned to our daughter and their new home. My husband and I lived in the mountains and it had been Malijah's first experience having the freedom to roam outside. He climbed trees, and raced up hillsides. He never forgot life’s lessons and stayed away from roads and vehicles, never venturing far from our mountain home. It was a tough adjustment going from mountain cat back to apartment cat. Animals do have emotions and you could just tell that he was one happy cat with us. But, our daughter had missed him terribly and he was devoted to her.
When Malijah was almost 7 years old he came to live with my husband and me permanently. My daughter was about to move again and decided that Malijah was getting on in years and it wasn’t fair to him. So he was sent to the mountains to live in retirement with Willow and us. Ever after that when our daughter would visit, he would run and hide. He was afraid she had come to take him away from the mountains he loved to run free in.
Malijah loved being with us and he and my husband became the best of buddies. He had already won Willow’s heart and was allowed to sleep where he wanted and to eat and drink from Willow’s bowls.
During the ensuing nine years, he was almost carried off by an owl, tangoed with a fox, conquered high trees and routinely tried to contribute to our food stores, much to the chagrin of my naturalist’s heart. He stayed near his friend Willow, when our dear dog became ill and died of cancer too young.
Malijah saw us welcome three grandchildren into the family (who he never allowed to pet him until they were at least six years old) and a wild young puppy Lab that he merely tolerated, and kept in line with the occasional swift nose swipe. He even survived another move with us, this time to higher and more remote elevations. He experienced wind storms, deep snows and wild animals of the forests. All the while training that young Lab in stealth and silence when stalking or observing. The two spoke a common language when danger was near. Wild danger in the form of bears, coyotes and raptors.
The city cat had indeed become a mountain cat. He learned to survive the harsh city streets and brought his toughness to the remote mountains and survived all it had to throw at him with feline intelligence and grace.
He fell ill swiftly, one day grooming and running wild in the high meadows near our cabins, the next, throwing up clotted blood and refusing all food. "Sadly, this sometimes happens" said his vet of nine years. The humane thing to do was let him go.
I think Malijah told me good bye. It was a strange intense moment, which I didn’t understand. It happened a few days before he fell so obviously ill. I looked at him on that day as he sat high on the wardrobe before my bed. He gazed at me with his golden eyes, shining intensely as he struck his usual statuesque Egyptian cat pose. I looked at him and told him that he was the most wonderful cat that I had ever met. I said this with all sincerity from deep within my heart and soul. At that moment his eyes opened wide and it looked as if a burden had been lifted from him. He let out a little sigh and his shoulders seemed to relax. An odd thought struck me; he’s saying goodbye.
I told myself I was being kooky. His sudden onset of illness yesterday alarmed me. A flock of crows sat on trees screeching near the cabin, where he sat on the floor by my side of the bed. A place where he never sat. He sat silently – eyes open for hours; he didn’t let on the extent of his pain and suffering. The vet shed light on that today, right before he administered a sedative. He shared with us the tests which showed conclusively the extent of the damage to his kidneys.
We all gathered, the three grand children (ages one, seven and ten), the daughter who had gifted such a wonderful cat to us, her sister whose son has claimed, for most of his young years, that Malijah was a brave warrior cat, a model for his own three much loved cats, my husband who had loved Malijah as deeply as is possible for a human to love a cat, and me. I, the one who worried at how hard the separation would be for my husband, melted into a puddle of helpless tears.
The children bid Malijah good bye first and then were led out by our youngest daughter. Remaining was the daughter whom had given us, in the grateful words of my husband, a great and wonderful cat. There the three of us stood, trying to bring comfort to Malijah in his last few moments on earth. I asked him to send Willow our love. My husband cradled him as the sedative took effect. Malijah insisted on climbing into his arms. The arms he had crawled into almost every night for the past nine years. Our daughter gently stroked him, remembering the companion of her youth. And then he was gone.
I’ve read a saying, something to the effect – that heaven is where all the dogs and cats who have ever loved us are waiting for us. That brings me some comfort.
I feel that our animal friends are miracles that teach us lessons of love, responsibility, life and death. They ask so little in return for the unconditional love that they so freely give.
Goodbye Malijah
July 10, 2009