She was lethargic and disinterested. She hadn’t eaten all day and did not even attempt to have a drink of water. Then, she went missing. We searched everywhere for her and finally found her. She was listless and barely awake. I thought she was dying. After all, she was old — really old. She was over 20 years old. Which is old for a cat.
She first came into our family as an energetic kitten that bounced off walls. Our son John, to whom she belonged at the time, named her Spaz. She was a virgin cat, having been “fixed” at an early age. She was also an outdoor cat and, for years, lizards, toads, salamanders, frogs, and unwary birds disappeared from our property.
For the first third of her life she hunted, lived, slept, and survived outdoors. Then, my wife wanted to bring her in. She was small — only about 5-6 pounds or so — and my wife was worried about predators.
Knowing that cats scratch furniture into rubbish, I agreed only if her front claws were removed. They were and for the last two-thirds of her life she has been very content to be a pampered house cat.
In the beginning, she looked longingly at the outdoors through the window — especially when birds attended the feeder. Eventually, she turned to sleeping on my lap, on my wife’s head, and on warm towels in the laundry room.
She, who was always resistant to being picked up, came to relish lying on her back in our arms having her ears and tummy stroked.
In time, she gained a new name. No longer a spastic kitten, she came to be called Kitter. About five years ago or so, thinking she was getting old and needing some companionship, we introduced a rescue kitten to the household.
The kitten, which, when it grew, turned out to be a huge Maine Coon Cat weighing in at over 26 pounds, was and still is dominated by diminutive Kitter. Petey, as the behemoth is known, has learned to live in Kitter’s shadow.
According to the Purina Company, at 20, Kitter is 96 years old in human terms. In those 20 years, she has become part of our family. People who have pets understand the affection that comes with having pets.
For the last few years, I have prepared myself for the day when Kitter would be gone. Every cough, hiccup, or sneeze was thought to be the possible end. Still she endured and thrived. And she affectionately rubbed herself on us and purred.
When we were out, she would be waiting at the door for our return. At 5 a.m., when my wife wakes up, she would trot down the hallway for her breakfast. On most nights, whatever the season, whenever we watched TV or read, she would curl up near one of us and sleep contentedly.
When I found her in the state she was in, my wife and I discussed what to do. It didn’t take long. I took her to the vet. The tests, treatment, and care would not be cheap. So be it. This was Kitter. As of this moment, we do not know how it will turn out. She is in the animal hospital for a second night. Petey has wandered the house for two days looking for her. It’s as though he knows something is not right.
I am going to go get her in the morning. If she recovers, we will be grateful for her return to us. If she does not, I want her to be in the place she has lived for two decades, near the people who love her. I want her to feel safe. I want her to be home. It’s the least I can do for family.
[David Epps is the pastor of the Cathedral of Christ the King, Sharpsburg, GA (www.ctkcec.org). He is the bishop of the Mid-South Diocese which consists of Georgia and Tennessee (www.midsouthdiocese.org) and the Associate Endorser for the Department of the Armed Forces, U. S. Military Chaplains, ICCEC. He may contacted at frepps@ctkcec.org.]
