Thank you, Meggie!

It wasn't a quiet passing, as such things go, but Nutmeg ("Meggie") had never been what one would consider a quiet cat. The only time she was really quiet, was when she was sleeping, and she most definitely did not want to go into that long, endless sleep, regardless of how ready her body was for it.

 I got Nutmeg as a kitten 18 years ago, while living in Syracuse, and she was always a bit off-center. Mostly black, with flecks and patches of orange and cream, she reminded me of a bowl of spices that had been only partially mixed together -- including a long dollop of cream running lopsidedly down her nose. She wasn't what one would consider a beautiful cat, but rather one full of lively personality.

 She was also extremely "mouthy", and was pretty impartial about sharing her opinion with anyone and everyone, often at maximum volume. I used to joke that she averaged about 45 ypm (yowls per minute) whenever I had to drive her to the vet, and the vet's office could always tell which cat I was bringing in for a visit, by the noise (or lack thereof, in Natasha's case) coming from the carrier as soon as I walked in the door.

During the last several months, I suspect she was actually going hard of hearing, on top of everything else. The poor old gal would sometimes "shout" at us, throwing her entire body into her chatter, as if, because she couldn't hear it properly, we wouldn't either, unless she yelled.

As usually happens with any pet that has been a part of your life for any length of time, she wasn't just a pet, she was "family".

This is something I rarely took for granted once I was "retired" and not getting out of the house much anymore. Having pets to care for meant that, regardless of how horrid I felt on waking up, I actually got up and got moving while it was still "morning" out. If my conscience didn't get me out of bed on the worst mornings, then there was generally a cat in my face (or bouncing on my bladder, or licking my fingers, etc.) telling me it was time to get up, feed them, and attempt to become human.  When the pain or exhaustion was bad enough, and I felt like napping, there was generally a cat napping with me ... just to make sure nothing other than them was going to disturb my sleep.  (I swear, Meggie was watching pro wrestling with my hubby, Adam, on the sly, and then practicing various wrestling pins on me when I tried to nap, some days.)  There were antics to make me laugh when I was feeling down, feline demands that got me up and moving, instead of sitting in my computer chair for too many hours on end.

Of course, there was also a lot of noise, especially with Meggie. While I can be pretty noise-sensitive at times, her "talk", and my habit of talking back to her had some unexpected benefits for me, and actually helped my headaches.  Yep, you read that right.  Who'd have thought that talking back to a cat would help decrease headaches, eh? 

 Like most people, I clench my jaw when in pain, and since I am pretty much always in pain, you can guess what that does to my jaw (and my neck, and my skull, as all sorts of muscles follow suit and clench along with my jaw). Since most of my "talking" is via my fingers on the computer, as well as random chats with Adam when he's home, that leaves many hours each weekday where my jaw would be pretty much locked closed, other than for food, drink ... and chatting with the cats.

 Trust me, my sisters gave me the nickname of "motormouth" when I was a kid, and Meggie seemed determined to make sure I didn't totally lose the gift for gab as an adult. She would play "shark" around my computer chair, talking up a storm, coaxing me into talking back (and into "spanking" her, and/or holding down a brush, pen, book, etc for her to rub against, etc.).

So it was a very sad thing to see her get less chatty, less active, as her kidneys continued to fail.  She still loved to chat if I sought her out in her resting place, but it was me seeking her out, instead of the other way around. It finally hit the point where the subcutaneous fluids and other tlc weren't enough, and her body stopped producing red blood cells as well. At best, extra measures at that point would have only prolonged her life by a few weeks, if we were lucky, while making her miserable with all the medicating, etc.

A week ago today, I brought her into the vetrinarian's office for the last time. Her talking was muted, but still present and she nuzzled happily against her favorite brush as we waited for the vet, a man who had been seeing and treating her for the last 10 years, and well knew her personality and foibles.

Her body was most definitely ready to give up, but her spirit turned stubborn once again. (She took after me in stubbornness at times!) The tranquilizer injection, meant to put her gently to sleep so she would feel no pain or panic during the lethal injection that was to follow, only made her more stubborn.  During the 5 or so minutes that they left me alone with her while it was taking effect, she literally braced her paws on the table, fighting to stay awake and alert for those last few moments with me. It was heartbreaking, but so very typical of Nutmeg!

Finally, however, she couldn't out-stubborn the effect of the sedative on her overtaxed body, and she drifted quietly to sleep, so that they could give her the final injection.

I stayed with her until the very end, giving her gentle pets and brushes as I quietly thanked her for 18 years of companionship, love, and much loud "conversation".

Thank you, my "grumpy granny", for those many long years.  You will be missed, old gal.