I have been unable to have another cat since Charlie. He looked pretty much like these: imagecache2.allposters.com
He was given to me as a stray by an acquaintance back in 2000, I think. I had him for awhile when I found out that he had feline leukemia. It saddened me very much and I was surprised because he looked so healthy. I decided to keep him, but was warned by the vet that he was a timebomb to any local cats. My neighborhood is sparse with a good separation between houses, so, I kept him indoors under a permanent quarantine according to my promise to the vet.
When I would come home, my automatic garage door would scare Charlie back inside the main house from the attached garage where his litter box was if he happened to be in there when it opened.
Things went for a year or more without any problems. Then I saw him put his claw into the screen door of the front porch one day, and open it easily to saunter outside. Since he was a house cat, he did not run, but sat just a few feet in front of the door on the lawn. I got him back in quickly without trouble.
Some time later, when I came home, I noticed that he did not react in fear to the garage door opening, and he walked out before it closed. Like before, he just sat a few feet on the driveway and came back in easily.
But, I was afraid now. For the next several days, I pondered Charlie's fate. One day, in June of '01, I decided to have him put to sleep for the sake of the neighborhood. Charlie had become the cat that knew too much.
I could not believe how hard that was to do. I arranged with a friend to pick up Charlie in his carry-all to take him to the vet after I had gone to work. I simply could not bear the task.
That morning, before I left I let Charlie curl up on the one couch that I had always refused to let him be on -- and the one he always very sneakily got onto when he thought I wasn't looking. I used to chase him off there with a water pistol and go after him around the kitchen firing away at him for good measure. He was a more elusive target than I was a marksman, for I rarely ever got him. His being on there really used to irritate me -- but, not that morning. He did jump off, but there was no water pistol, only a tiny pat on his head when he surfaced and the offer of a last meal before I closed the door behind me.
We had gone through many cats growing up, so, I did not think I was that attached to him. I could not believe how sad I was that day, and even now, my eyes swim to think of it.
A week or so later, I got a surprise in the mail from the vet. It was a card that was signed by his entire office with a note of appreciation for thinking about the other cats over the life of a dear pet. He knew how hard that had been for me.
Stan |
