Endings

Monty Python Brave of Heart Rest in Peace April 8 2009

The first time I saw Monty was at my dead sister's house. I saw a brave and beautiful long haired cat climb the stairs and look at me with huge eyes the color of a summer sky. I brought a bowl of dry kibble and a bowl of canned cat food. I sat on a porch chair and listened to the wind in the pines and watched Monty eat everything, then leave. This dance of ours went on for several weeks. Finally on Christmas Day 2007 I left her food in a cat carrier and when she entered to eat, closed the door. And brought her to my house.

The 16 months since have been fraught with frustration, irritation, fear, and compromise on the part of dear Monty, me, my male cat who Monty hated, and my dog, who Monty loved. We all adjusted as best we could, most especially perhaps Tony, my male cat, who was relegated to the front porch in thunderstorms and 30 degree temperatures.

Only a psychiatrist could puzzle out why I decided on April 8 to have Monty put down. I don't think she was sick although she may have had a UTI -- she had peed or sprayed in the laundry room which was sort of the last straw in my adjusting to her quirks. When I finally decided, after I asked God for guidance on the 7th and decided on the 8th, action was swift. I was afraid I'd chicken out. When I pulled her from under the bedspread where she was 'hiding' and napping, I put her in the carrier. In previous trips to the vet, she has objected ferociously, even getting the door open on one occasion. But this time, she just sat and looked at me with her big blue eyes. Perhaps she was resigned, perhaps she just thought it was a vet visit, perhaps she was in shock, perhaps she was happy to be going, I don't know.

I've put many pets down, but Monty is the first I've put down for behavioral issues. The fact that she was my sister's cat and kept that flame alive conflicted me always. But Tony, my male cat, was fighting every cat in town for his dinner, I was dealing with Monty's spraying issue, and Monty had become more and more withdrawn, frankly.

Was it the right decision? Only God knows. I miss her terribly. She slept in my bed. She got in my lap after supper. Did I mention her blue eyes, which were the last thing I saw as Doc White took her away. But she also attacked with claws unprovoked, spent days hiding under blankets, hissed at Tony the male cat, and generally made life dysfunctional for the rest of us.

Art Garfunkel used to sing a song with these lines:

Endings always come at last,
Endings always come too fast,
They come too fast,
And they pass too slow,
I love you
And that's all I know.