My Sweet Moca

I had to take my sweet Moca to the veterinarian yesterday.  I've written about her a number of times on this blog, including the times she's gone anorexic on us.  Well, we didn't realize at that time what the slightly elevated markers in her blood tests presaged.  This time she has quit eating and drinking again, but it seemed like it was more.  She was having trouble standing and walking, and clearly wasn't feeling good.

It turns out she has cancer in her kidneys which likely had started two years ago when she first quit eating, and they're now shutting down.  The kidney markers are 10 times higher than they should be; it sounds like the vet hasn't seen counts like that in a long time, if ever.  The vet told me that there's nothing more they can do for her.  They can hydrate her and try to keep her going for a while, but that won't last long.  So I brought her home from the vet's last night to spend another night with us before having her put to sleep today.  It's breaking my heart.

The vet says she's not in pain.  She just doesn't feel good and she's getting weaker.  This morning she can't stand up, but she does hold her head up (I took this picture a little while ago, lying on her special towel at the foot of our bed).  It's hard for me to take her to be put to sleep when she can still purr a tiny bit and talk back to me plaintively when I speak to her.  So I'm waiting.  I guess I'll call the vet and find out what to expect with the course of the disease, and discuss whether we should keep her home longer.  She seems happy being here at home.

Saying goodbye is so heartbreaking.  As Husband remarked to me, "You've had her longer than you've had me."  And that's true.  She's 11 years old, and it was 10 years ago last month that our relationship got its start.  My kitties were my company when I was single.  They made my living areas much more pleasant.  Cousin Heidi did me a big favor 20-some years ago when I told her I was lonely in my little apartment, and she suggested I get a cat.

It seems like just yesterday that Moca was a little chocolatey tyke who could hardly walk on her little feet, with her big head and bright green eyes.  She would race around my house, skidding on the wood floors, chasing the laser pointer spot as I played with her.  She and her brother managed to tear up my wingback chair with their sharp little claws.  I've kept the chair with it's loops pulled out of the fabric, and am sitting on it as I write this.  And they managed to tear up my first doctoral robe, which they used as a ladder to climb up to the shelf at the top of my closet.  It was an unhappy discovery; the robe now serves as my "rainy day robe" since our university holds outdoor graduations, rain or shine.  

Moca's funny personality has been a source of interest and entertainment for us over the years.  I'll miss her little voice telling me off about my absence when I return from a trip.  I'll miss her delight as I watch Husband rough her up on her favorite petting places--the loopy towel and her Arizona green rocks.  I'll miss walking by the bed and seeing her tail hanging out from where she's taking a nap behind the bed skirt.  I'll miss the way she often climbs up by my pillow when we go to bed, and lets me hold her paw in my hand for awhile.

My sweet, sweet kitty.  Be at peace.