We Need the Eggs

There is another magazine article on my desk that reads “Machines Are Getting Smarter Every Day.” I don't deny it, but I'll still stick with the birds. It's life I believe in, not machines.—Loren Eiseley, The Immense Journey

First of all, if any young people are reading this, these are the words of an old person whom you should ignore. Live a long life full of happiness and sadness spent with loved ones. Okay, now 23 skidoo.

Sometimes I wonder if you win the game of life by dying first.

If you die young, you don’t experience the loss of everyone else you love dying. Sure, you die young. But you don’t know what you’re missing, do you?

Eleven years ago, one cat died and another one was rescued. The one who died was named Shadow, but we called him Cat Loaf. He came to us declawed, flinching because he’d been hit, and generally crabby. He was the most irascible and stubborn animal I’ve ever known, and could somehow squirm around to bite you while he was snugly wrapped in a towel like a burrito, to be medicated.

After a few years of love, he was less crabby, and would flop on our arms as we used the computer keyboard, and look adoringly into our eyes. Shortly after this, he developed kidney failure, and we had a vet come to house to euthanize him, because he hated going to the vet. We were sad, but Charlie, my Siamese rescue with the one crooked paw, was sadder at the loss of his frenemy. He wandered the apartment looking for Cat Loaf, so we decided to get him a new pal.

A local rescue had a big tabby who resembled Sarah’s cat, Freddy, so I set up an appointment to meet him. He was fostered in a chicken wire cage in someone’s garage with several other cats, and seemed to recognize us the moment we came in. I think we petted him through the cage, and he jumped into a cat carrier to get the heck out of there. The rescue folks looked nervous, and said “you can try him out.” He was big, and had a reputation for attacking people, we learned later.

When we took him home, he strutted into the apartment like he owned the place. (And soon, he did.) Louie hopped into our bed when we went to sleep, and curled up between us, making it known that he chose us. He didn’t swipe or bite, but did kick his back feet when I cradled him upside down; that was a no-no. But other than that, he was gentle to humans and took out his aggressions on poor Charlie, who preferred chasing Cat Loaf, to being the object of the chase.

Charlie, who usually slept at my side, refused to sit on the bed for an entire year after this, in protest, but eventually relented. Charlie was smaller, but smarter. They would play and chase one another in a neverending battle of who was Top Cat, which Louie won when Charlie came down with cancer in 2018. Louie himself had severe allergies that caused his eardrums to rupture. After years of treatment, we got that under control, and he became a much friendlier kitty.

Louie claimed both of our laps, and became more affectionate. In those five years, he went from a young tom who loved to gallop down the hallways and greet people, but would only sit near you but not touching, to a fifteen pound love bug who spent an hour most nights kneading my chest with his paws and curling up on me while I tried to read or type. Without a cat to chase, he would sometimes stalk Sarah’s ankles, and while he loved meeting new people, he would swipe if they tried to touch him. He stood up to friends’ big dogs by turning sideways, raising his hackles, and staring as if he dared them to come closer. And most recently, he played chicken with a skunk, and didn’t even care when he got doused with the Le Pew cologne.

A few weeks since then, he developed diabetes, and may have had a cardiac event while hacking up a hairball. We took him to the ER because he was panting heavily, and they found fluid in his chest cavity, and extremely elevated blood sugar. He came home not himself. We were able to give him insulin for only a day or two before he stopped eating and drinking, and his blood sugar wouldn’t stabilize. He was suffering, and it became time to have a home visit from the vet again.

The shock still lingers. We had him since he was a strapping yearling tabby, and watched him become a house tiger, and chase squirrels around the yard. He declined rapidly, and I will miss him for a long time. As I type this, I keep expecting to hear his footsteps coming down the stairs.

For the first time in over seventeen years, I am catless. And I think I will take some time before we have another pet in the house, because I can’t handle the loss. Not only the loss, but having to decide when to end their suffering. I’ve had to do that three times in less than twenty years, and it weighs on me heavily. I’m beginning to feel like a serial killer.

Long term, the companionship and affection that Charlie, Cat Loaf, and Louie shared with us is easily worth the sadness when you have to let them go, and end their pain. George Carlin said that “life is a series of dogs.” Or cats. As you age, you remember what year it was by the name of your pet. I don’t know how people who like big dogs do it, the ones who average seven or eight years. We haven’t had much of a better record with cats, just over ten for Louie and Charlie. Why do we do it?

It’s like the old joke about the woman whose husband thinks he’s a chicken. She’d leave him, but she needs the eggs.

We need the eggs.

Sarah and I have decided that we are going to take a few long trips that we’ve wanted to take, but were concerned about finding someone to watch Louie for more than a week or two. Hopefully we won’t need the eggs too badly in the meanwhile.

1. Earliest Photo 2. Full Grown 3. Last Good Photo