It’s Nice to Have Something Else Breathing in the House
The title is from a friend about a pet and living by yourself. I had been living alone for a couple of years when my 18-year-old cat decided it was time and went off and found a fern to expire under. After a suitable period of mourning, I decided it was time for another cat.
I was looking for a mellow cat and went to the Humboldt County Animal Shelter. Walking through aisles of cages, I came to a good-looking, mild-mannered calico. When the cat turned, I saw that her face was terribly disfigured. The left corner of her mouth was split almost to her ear, revealing brown and broken teeth, and her left eye was opaque.
The attendant said she had been “surrendered” to the shelter a few months before. They didn’t know what had happened to her, her age was estimated at 12 years, and her name was Maggie.
I left without adopting a pet and drove back to Eureka, knowing before I’d gone very far that I was going to come back the next day for Maggie.
Being fond of “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” I decided that Maggie — the role Elizabeth Taylor played — was a good name to keep. She was only marginally fussy about her food. No sardines, please, but the chicken and lobster variety was always welcome. Lobster. OK, Maggie.
On her first visit to the vet, she wouldn’t stop purring long enough to get a good reading of her heart through the stethoscope. That describes her nature better than any words. But blood tests revealed failing kidneys.
I began giving her daily infusions of saline through a needle into the scruff of her neck. Once the initial shock wore off, she took it like it was nothing at all. But the need for daily infusions meant that if I traveled, she would need to be boarded at the vet’s office. The staff became enamored of her and would text photos and videos of her while I was away.
It was wonderfully reassuring to me to see that she was being so well received — photos of her sitting on the counter while the staff went about their business, photos of her smooching the staff, and one particularly charming video of Maggie with a pink elastic tutu around her hips and voguing like she was on … well … a catwalk.
After about 2½ years, Maggie began to slow down noticeably and lost weight precipitously. Life wasn’t much fun for her anymore, and euthanasia seemed an act of kindness. When I took her to the vet on the appointed day, all the staff came to bid Maggie farewell. She was given an injection, nestled into my lap and seemed to go to sleep, just like the old euphemism.
I’ve since moved out of the house we shared, but Maggie’s still there, in the garden.
James Buschmann is a retired elementary school teacher who lives in Eureka.
