Furry Death

Well it has come. This morning I had to put down my beautiflul 18-year-old "American Shorthair," Jasper. His mother (at 20) sits next to me meowing as I type. I don't have an answer she could comprehend.

Jasper was the nicest, sweetest cat I have ever owned, bar none. He was a scaredy-boy, running from the doorbell and strangers. A coiled steel spring of black panther in miniature, playful and very loving with those he knew.

He won our hearts as a kitten and really became part of my family, even teaching me that he knew how to fetch, by bringing me stuff and dropping it at my feet. He'd go get whatever little thing I threw and bring it back until I got tired. In recent years it's been him, his mother Klyaksa and I, and I really appreciated them being around.

 Jasper was a fantastic kitty,
18 years old, born right here in this apartment. When my landlord told me he wanted to sell the house my first panic was that I didn't know if Jasper would be able to weather the move. In the last 6 months he lost a
lot of body mass and when they weighed him this morning at 5.045 pounds I was stunned. He had been 8 pounds most of his life. Chronic renal failure is a pretty common cause of death in cats, and they don't know why. I know they know that hyperthyroidism in cats is because of federally-mandated flame retardants in TV sets. Yes, the federal government commands TV makers to put toxic shit in their TVs that gasses out with heat. So it's not just the programming that is bad for you. Anyway, he crashed a couple of days ago, I fed him mostly by hand yesterday and he didn't stay on my bed last night again, a very rare occurrence. He did start out sleeping on my hand, which he did on and off for years. He would put his head in my hand and fall asleep. Sometimes I would wake up in the morning with a kitty head in the palm of my hand. Last night I was under the blankets and slid my hand underneath him. He was in the middle of the living room floor this morning, not a usual "spot" for him at all. I had made the vet appointment yesterday and knew it was likely that he was
done. I told the vet there was no need for heroics, he was 18 and has CRF and I know the trajectory. I just wasn't sure how close he was to the runway, so to speak. I went to a different vet than my usual one, because
my regular vets are strictly allopathic, and I don't think they have the compassion I was looking for in his care. I was recommended another vet in Winchester, who took care of some aging Bichons that my friend Leslie had, who was just great. We talked it over and agreed that he was done, his kidneys were really shriveled up, he was dehydrated and with all is muscle loss, pretty wobbly. It just broke my heart to have to put him down but he was on my lap the whole time and I know he didn't suffer. When the IV phenobarbitol hit, his breathing stopped right away. He was a very important part of my life for 18 years and I will miss him for a long
time. Good night Sweet Prince.

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Sometimes I called him Mr Big Nose, because his mother has a triangular face, and he has a nose and bigger ears. 

 

 Here he's at his owliest. He wasn't upset or anything as far as I can tell, but he sure was owly. 

He would lie on my leg while I watched the Red Sox and ate dinner. He was not food aggressive at all like his mom, but would eat little bits if I offered them.




















He was a great lap-lander, and would lie half on me and half on my desk , purring and sleeping.


















I often thought about how Thais depict cats in art, and he certainly had some Siamese in him.





















 I love this picture of him on my lap; he looks like he might eat your soul, but he was just playing.





















Thanks Baby. I loved you. And you loved us.