Goodnight, Sweet Neko...

This morning, we said goodbye to our cat, Neko, age fifteen. Some of you who know her know that Neko has been declining for a while, and last night she appeared to have suffered a stroke that left her very disoriented and weak. We took her to an emergency veterinary clinic and, after talking things over with the vet, decided that it was time to let Neko go. She probably was not going to live through the rest of the day, we realized, and this was a chance to minimize any pain she might be in. We are sad she’s no longer with us, but she had a good and a long (for a cat) life. I have no doubt she redeemed at least eight of her lives, and was planning on getting her full money's worth from the ninth.

Neko was a foundling, rescued from the side of the road with her siblings and came to me via my housemate, Will, who was the only human being she would tolerate for her first five years. In the two years that Will and I shared an apartment, Neko’s grudging tolerance of me grew by tiny degrees into affection. At first, she would not permit me to sit on the couch with her. Eventually, I could—and did-- sling her around like a rag doll. And when Will married a woman who is deathly allergic to cats, Neko stayed with me. Neko was a practical animal; since Will was no longer there, she adopted me, and the roommates who lived with me, and then Scott, whom she took a rather fast liking to (maybe she knew something, a twitch of the whiskers?) and she even was starting to show a grim tolerance for Audrey. I don’t think that would have been a match made in heaven, ever, but Audrey lit up in smiles and cooing when Neko walked into the room, and Neko… well, Neko never actually attacked her. Which is saying something. This is a cat who, in her heyday, required four people to subdue her for an annual physical: the vet, two assistants, and myself. And this was while Neko, who was declawed, was wearing a straight-jacket and a little executioner’s hood. The vet wore heavy leather falconry gloves that covered him to the shoulder. Usually when we walked in the door at the clinic they took a quiet, grim look at the notes in her file, left briefly, and returned, armed for bear. The girl had spirit.

But to those few she favored, Neko was deeply devoted and affectionate. She loved to spoon with us on the couch, to sit on our feet, to be near us. She would lie in our arms like a baby. And that is how I held her this afternoon, in quiet room with a rocking chair, when the vet came to do the euthanasia. It was very quick and I don’t think Neko felt a thing; she was already asleep and breathing slowly. It seemed that her body was shutting down rather quickly on its own. I’m happy I was one of her chosen few, and that she was a part of my household and my life for these past ten years.

Goodnight, sweet Neko. We will miss you.