Ex-showgirl, ex-mother, purebred Persian, Angelique, came to us as an adopted child when she was seven years old, four years ago. Having been raised in a cattery as a show cat and,later, as a breeder, it was a difficult adjustment for her to move into our little house already run by our four-year-old Maine Coon mix male, Gabriel, who wanted to play immediately and, when thwarted, chased her around the house just for fun. She had never learned to play, but she tried.Toys held no interest for her; it was the lazer light across the floor that sent her little legs skittering after it. Her name when she came to us was Cloud. No. After observing her for a little while, I decided on Angelique, more queenly,more suited to her personality. And, she was a drama queen. An endearing one. Basically, she and Gabriel tolerated one another, but there were times when he would enter the room, and the act was on.’Oh, here he is. Time for me to regally walk away.” There were other times when they both slept with my daughter, one at her head, the other at her side.When Angelique was through conversing with my daughter and me,she would coolly turn around and sit, with her back to us, signalling the end of that discussion.
And,then, at age eleven, she gave up eating, drinking, defecating, and sleeping in the room where she usually held court on a chaise . She chose to sleep at the foot of my twin bed, sometimes half under it. After an ultrasound, it was determined that she had rare case of intussusception of the stomach, one that three veterinarians had never before encountered.
Yesterday, we had a consultation with our compassionate veterinarian. It was decision time, and we made one. We also made an appointment for the next morning. By now, she was hiding underneath my bed, in the area beneath my pillow. Last night, she emerged to look around. I lifted her up onto the bed to have a petting fest for ten minutes. Then, it was under the bed once more to sleep. Two more times, she emerged, as if to say, “When are we going?” She knew, and she was ready. At 8:30 this morning, my daughter wrapped her up in two blankets and carried her to the car. She made no protest. She accepted it all. We stayed with her until she became a little spirit. We stayed for ten minutes afterwards. All the things the vet told us might happen after her demise didn’t. When we arrived back home, Gabriel looked at me and then went inside my room, inspecting all the places where she had slept, as if paying her his last farewell.And so, Angelique, our brave, four-pound showgirl, died with class, just the way she had lived.
A special note of thanks to all of you kind, caring bloggers who expressed your feelings and compassion and understanding that helped sustain me through this difficult time. Bless you.