Inconsolable

Gramma’s Eye Candy had to be euthanized today. It is never a good day to die, but especially Christmas Eve.
His real name is Pugsy. He was a city cat owned by a senior for 11 years. When his owner passed away, there was no place for him to go except a humane society for adoption. Sadly older cats don’t usually get re-homed.It would have been a long shot to find Pugsy a new family because of his odd diet and rather unsociable manner. Pugsy’s good looks belied his real demeanor.
He came home with me.
For three days he refused to come out of the crate. I was concerned that Pugsy might not adapt to a new home with – at that time – one other neutered male.
I cut up some ham and that seemed to entice him out to have a look around. He lived on a diet of ham. I was determined to change that in a hurry. One month later after a trial of every cat food product ever made, Sunday-cooked chicken and roast beef Pugsy had me trained to buy ham and cut it into bite-sized pieces.
The running joke was my husband ate peanut butter sandwiches while the cat dined on Black Forest ham.
I still tried to introduce him to other foods and was successful with dairy products. I noticed he began showing an interest in my toast. A little piece of crust with butter and Pugsy would nibble it then walk away like he conquered the chef.
His beautiful white coat was fine and long. Playing hairdresser consisted of three or four strokes with a brush then he would try to lay the smack down if I didn’t stop. A coat like that needs daily grooming and sometimes a good clip. Because he refused to be a lap cat, cuddle bunny or allow anyone to hold him I was concerned about how much trouble it would be to shave him. I don’t have enough metal armor to do the job myself. To pay a vet to put Pugsy under while being groomed was more than I spent in a lifetime of haircuts for myself.
I found a dog groomer that also groomed cats.
If the first trip to the groomers was any indication, I might have been talked out of any future grooming sessions.
I donned a pair of coveralls and heavy gloves to put him inside the crate. The entire trip to town was filled with unhappy and disgruntled meows. I turned up the radio to drown him out.
It was a full house when we arrived. Dogs were barking inside crates while hair dryers blasted heat to their wet bodies. I had to pry the cat out of the carrier. This was not going to be a cake walk. The groomer instructed me on how to hold Pugsy down while she operated the clippers. He tried to fight it and was quite strong despite his age. I told the groomer that the cut did not have to be pretty. His nails were also clipped. Another activity he would seek revenge upon me. When the job was done I opened his crate which he gladly walked into, but not without taking a swipe at me as I closed the door. The drive home was quiet.
When we arrived the other cat came to smell Pugsy. What the heck happened to you he likely said to Pugsy with his body language and sniffing. My husband laughed and Pugsy retreated to his room with a bruised ego.
Later that night he actually jumped up beside me on the couch as if to say, Okay I guess we can sort of be friends again.
It’s been almost five years since he had arrived and despite acting like he was above everyone, Pugsy wormed his way into our hearts. He rarely acted like a cat, but when he did it became the talk of the neighbourhood.
This morning I awoke to find Pugsy in distress and his hind legs were limp. I bundled him up and drove into town to the vet. His meow was sad and sounded like he was experiencing a lot of pain. I instantly knew this would be the last time we would travel together. I talked to him the whole way there and promised him relief. I told Pugsy that he was going on a special trip to see his former owner and would be missed by all on the Catillac Ranchette.
But I had one request for him to do after crossing the rainbow bridge. Make sure to have lunch with my husband – peanut butter sandwiches and a nice bowl of Black Forest ham.
Pugsy was laid to rest at 9:15 a.m. A blood clot travelled through his aorta to the lower extremities where it lodged and prevented blood flow to his hind legs. The chance of him making a come back was not to be.
The vet shaved a spot on his front leg and I scooped up the little tuft of fur. He inserted a catheter to administer the drug that would send him to the other side. The vet inserted the needle and pushed the plunger. About halfway through the drug, Pugsy gave one last swipe, then died peacefully in my arms.

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