Goodbye Ned

People have been asking what's going on with me. I haven't updated the blog much and it's been mostly about politics in the last couple of months. In a way, I feel like I'm not doing anything newsworthy and on the other hand, who could think about anything else? There's been so much happening in the world – and so much that seems to be changing – that I can't keep up and also keep finding that everything I want to say is already being said. I commented to a friend a couple of months ago that the level of debate and discussion in this country has finally been ratcheted up. Everyone has been talking about the bailouts, the election, gay rights, the war and so many other important things. But there have been important changes happening in my life too. For one thing, I just turned 37 and I attend my 20th high school reunion next week so I'm thinking a lot about where I am in life. My mom was younger than me when she lost her mother to cancer and I am so grateful for this opportunity to spend this time with her. Time she never got with her mother. She's loving it too.

Yesterday, we had a sad day. One of our cats, Ned, had to be put down. He was almost 19 years old. My mom has already put down two 18 year old cats and has another one about to turn 17. She's lived in this house a long time and many neighborhood cats and kittens have found her to be adopted, she has never once chosen a cat herself. Ned was named after the band Ned's Atomic Dustbin in 1990 by my brother, and our cousins who visited from England that summer dubbed him "Little Chaps." He grew to be a big cat and was never the smartest one but he defended the yard for almost 20 years from intruders. In his last days, though, he couldn't hear other cats and didn't have the energy to chase them away. He was always a big teddy bear and loved affection; You could hold him, squeeze him and carry him around and he would purr and drool until you put him down.

His best friend was Jake, a fragile and beautiful cat a couple of years younger and much smaller, whom Ned protected fiercely. They slept together and washed each other, their gray fluffy bodies blending into one. Over the last few months, though, Ned began to waste away. His 20 lb. body went down to about 4 and his big head and feet looked funny on his smaller frame. He was skin and bones and even though we fed him well and treated his over-active thyroid, he continued to look more frail and become disoriented. He howled every night though we never knew why. Was it to try to hear himself speak? Was it a cry for help? Or maybe it was for his beloved Cricket, a gorgeous black and white cat that lived next door. He was madly in love with Cricket and used to follow her around and howl for her in the evenings until she disappeared one summer night a few years ago – perhaps taken away by marauding coyotes.

On the night before his last, Ned curled up with Jake for the first time in months and they washed each other. Ned spent the entire night sleeping in front of the fire he always loved, something he hadn't done in probably a year. He usually spent his days and night on the roof, we figured so he could see everything and no one could sneak up on him. But something did sneak up on him, a raccoon or maybe a coyote tore half of Ned's back foot off. Maybe he was trying to defend his Jake or maybe he just didn't hear his attacker, but my mom found him in a state of shock lying by the pool in the early morning. We took him to the vet and decided to euthanize him. Ned was a stubborn cat and would never have permitted himself to be kept indoors or get help taking a pee. He wouldn't have put up with bandages or opened his mouth for antibiotics, so there wasn't any point. And if it didn't heal, they'd have to amputate. He was already so weak and so fragile, it didn't seem right to risk him being eaten alive on another day or night or deprive him of his roof and his garden.

When the doctor gave him the shot, my mother and I were both holding and stroking Ned and even though she said it might take 15 seconds, he was gone in two. He was ready to go she said and we barely registered a change in him even though his heart had stopped. We took him home and buried him in the garden he loved so much and was his home for nearly two decades. My mom worked from home for the rest of the day and we both cried throughout the afternoon. We talked about what a long life Ned had, and what a great life all of her cats have had. Her yard is so full of trees and gardens that every cat on the block wants to live here. Since Ned's decline, we had about four neighbor cats who spent their days in the yard, something he never would have permitted before. We talked about what to plant over his grave and that we were glad we brought him home, where he belongs. I still am so sad today. I didn't expect to be so upset but I miss him, even in his distressed state, and it's hard to be responsible for taking a life away. Yet, we both feel it was the right thing and we think Ned did too. Dear Ned, rest in peace, you will be missed. (Photo is from July this year.)