cream, 2008-2021

Sometimes, when a pet is in decline, there's a discrete event that makes it clear the end has come. That's how it was for Bungee. And for Morgan. And, as painful as that is, the decision is easy. For other pets, you never get a discrete event. The pet's health and quality of life gradually deteriorates. And you keep asking yourself and your vet -- if you're lucky enough to have a good vet -- the same questions. What's his quality of life? Is he in pain? Is he enjoying life? That's how it has been with Cream.

We made the decision this week. Early this afternoon, we had him put to sleep.

My purpose here is not to document Cream's decline. I'm not writing this to justify our decision -- or the fact that it took so long to make it. This is to write about some of my good memories of Cream. For the record, his official name was The Brewery Cream, because "The Brewery" is the name of the cattery where he was bred.

When we first visited The Brewery, we were looking for two kittens. Blair was pregnant with Asher, and we thought that getting cats for Ethan and Sharon would be a good idea. Having played the role of kitty hospice for a Maine Coon* and having done some research, we wanted Maine Coons. Ethan picked one of the kittens because he loved the energy. That kitten (who would become known as Red) was bouncing off the walls, though he occasionally checked in on us. He seemed to like when Ethan picked him up. Sharon also had her eye on one particular kitten. But then this cream-colored one came over and kind of sat next to her. We don't know why, but he seemed to show a real interest in Sharon. And that was how Sharon was picked by her cat.

Cream was particularly docile. I remember a time that Sharon was carrying him down the stairs. She tripped, and the two of them went tumbling down. He didn't bite or scratch or anything like that. He spent a second or two looking around puzzled. Then, when he got his bearings, he went to Sharon (who was, herself, just getting her bearings), and waited for her to pick him up.

And yet Cream was (before he wet deaf and blind) a great hunter. To this day, Sharon will tell you that her favorite birthday present was the mouse Cream left on her bed on her birthday.

Cream particularly enjoyed carb-heavy people food. Which meant that bread wasn't safe around him. That's not so bad. But when he was young -- three or so? -- he ate a big chunk of corn cob. This got lodged in his intestines and made him sick. So sick, in fact, that he would have died without surgery. Afterwards, the vet reminded us: "Remember. He has learned nothing from this incident."

There was a time a few years ago that Red was missing for several months. I wrote about his return here. When we got him back, Cream -- though blind and deaf -- was beside himself with joy.

In the last couple years, we've occasionally taken Cream outside to enjoy the sunshine. In his declined state, we felt there was really no risk of him running away. So we would sit with him in the yard as he sniffed the air and rubbed against the flowers or the clover.

During the time after he lost his hearing and vision, but before his mobility deteriorated, he would still move around the house. He seemed to have a good mental picture of where everything was, so he generally didn;t need help -- though he took things slower than he had when he could see. Occasionally he would lose his bearings. When that happened, he would sit down and meow very loudly until someone came and carried him to some familiar point. We stared calling that "resetting the cat." I was once on a work meeting, when someone made a suggestion. At that moment Cream, who was in my office, decided he wanted help and yowled particularly loudly. The guy who had made the suggestion quipped "I guess someone thinks that's a bad idea." Cream yowled again. I had to sheepishly excuse myself with "Sorry. Gotta reset the cat." I suppose I should have been on mute.

It's painful to lose a beloved pet, especially when you have to make the decision, which leaves you open to second-guessing. But I am very glad that Sharon had a cat**. And I'm particularly happy that Cream picked her. Cream was a great cat.

We loved you, Cream.

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*That was Morgan. We got him used. He was about 12, and had spent most of his life as a lap cat for an elderly lady. Her last words, spoken to her husband, were "Take care of Morgan." The husband did his best, but couldn't hack it. So Morgan bounced from home to home. Eventually we answered an ad in Freecycle, and adopted him. We had him for the last year or so of his life.

**Which should not be read to imply that she won't have another