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I've had people ask me how I came up with my domain name "smxy". It's pretty simple, really - it's the first initials of my four beloved cats first names, in the order I got (or decided to keep) them: Scudder, Maurice, Xena and Yoda. Here they are:

In the summer of 1991, I had gone to a local pet store, as I often did, to look at ferrets, as I was thinking about getting one. When I left, I would always stop at the kitten cages, to give them some love and attention. On this particular occasion, I picked up a little 6 week old, black and white kitten, who promptly did his best to climb head-first into my shirt pocket. I was instantly won over, and he went home with me. Since I was single, I thought he'd be lonely, while I was at work, so four days later I went back and bought a 6 week old, chocolate brown tabby. I had recently read E.M. Forster's novel, "Maurice", and had seen the film version of it. In the story, Scudder and Maurice were a couple, with Scudder played by a cute guy and Maurice played by a handsome guy, in the movie. That was how I saw my two guys, and with that, Scudder and Maurice became a part of my life.

Fast-forward 11 1/2 years. A stray cat had a litter of four kittens, on the other side of a chain link fence, by my driveway, under some construction materials. They were clearly visible from my side of the fence, so I watched them grow. It rained, almost continuously, the first 4 weeks of their lives, and they all looked quite sick. So, after 4 weeks, I stole them from the mother when she went out hunting one day. I took them to the vet and he gave me a cream to put in their eyes, and he gave them a shot. I took them home, to care for them, until they were older and I could give them away. I did find homes for two of the three males, but by then had become quite attached to the one female, and decided to keep her. I also decided to keep her remaining brother, so that she would have a friend her own age, and be less likely to torment the old cats (who *hated* them). The girl had a penchant for stealing little pieces of paper, and she seemed like a little princess to me, so I named her Xena (Warrior Princess). I had to give her brother a bath, for some forgotten reason, and my roommate at the time said he looked like Yoda, when he was all wet and bedraggled, so Yoda he was. Eventually, Scudder & Maurice accepted them.

This year (2006), Scudder & Maurice will turn 15 in May, and Xena & Yoda will turn 4 in June. Scudder and Maurice have both been diagnosed with chronic kidney failure. Scudder's right at the start of it, but Maurice has had it for a year, and has lost weight. They're on a special diet now, and the hope is that it will stabilize them. Time will tell.

I never did get a ferret. :)



Today (August 11, 2006), I had Scudder euthanised. His breathing was a little labored last night and this morning it was much worse and he sounded horrible. An x-ray showed that his heart was failing and fluid was backing up into his lungs, slowly drowning him. They put him in an oxygen cage and after a few minutes his nose was pink, he was able to breath with his mouth closed again and he was comfortable, though breathing rapidly. The doctor said that the treatment for the heart problem would make his chronic kidney failure much worse, and vice versa. I spent about an hour alternating between holding him and putting him back in the oxygen, and then we went to a private room, where he was euthanised. I held him during it, and talked to him almost constantly before and after. I think it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do. He was the one I spoiled, and without a doubt, he was my favorite. I'm sure it will get better later, but right now I can hardly stop crying. I'm really going to miss him. After it was over, I spent a while with him. I positioned him in a sleeping pose, so that he looked less ... dead. During his last year, he didn't groom himself very well, and consequently had some matted fur on his hind-quarters, that he wouldn't let me remove. I decided that since he was in no position to complain, I was going to remove them, so I asked for a brush and I spent about a half hour cleaning him up. When I was finished, he looked nicer than he had in some time. It felt good to care for him this one last time.

I had him euthanized on a Friday and planned to have him cremated. The crematorium wasn't going to pick him up for almost two weeks though, and I just didn't like the idea of him lying around in the freezer until then. So, I picked him up from the vet and took him there myself, the following Tuesday. It turns out they could do it while I waited (for an additional fee, heh), so I did. They took him out of the bag and box I'd brought him in, and put him in the tray he'd be cremated in. But before they began the procedure, they put a pillow under his head and pulled a blanket half way over him, so that he looked like he was tucked into bed and they put him in a room that looked just like a viewing room in a funeral home. So, he had a wake, with me as the only visitor. It was interesting. I'd heard of people doing that for their pets and I always thought it was maybe silly, but I'm glad I did it. I got to see him one last time, and pet him and talk to him, just like I would for a person I knew (well, maybe not the petting part, heh). Mind you, he was frozen solid, but that was easy to overlook as long as you didn't press down on his fur enough to really feel the cold, heh. After I said my goodbyes, they let me watch as they put him in the cremation machine (so that I would know it was an individual cremation and that it was my cat and not someone else's). About an hour and a half later, I watched as they took the pan out. They very respectfully showed me what was left - just a jumble of white, parched bones - and then they poured them into a Hobart grinder and ground them up. They then took that and put it in a plastic bag, sealed it and put it in a nice little wooden box, to which they affixed a plaque that reads:

Scudder
5/21/91 - 8/11/06
"The most loved kitty
in the whole world"

which is what I always told him he was (sorta - I actually used to say two things: that he was "The bestest little kitty in the whole world." and that he was "The most loved kitty ever.", but I was upset that day and sorta munged them together, without thinking - oh well, heh). :) I brought him home, where he belongs, and he's on the bookshelf, to my left, as I write this.


August 22, 2007: Maurice turned 16 last May and the young'uns turned 5 in June. Maurice's chronic kidney failure seems to have remained stable and after messing with his diet, I even got him to put on a pound, which is excellent. He still grooms himself well and seems happy and content, so I think he's doing ok, for now. I don't know how long that'll last though, so I make sure I give him lots of extra love and attention, while I still have him. Xena and Yoda are both happy and healthy.


August 11, 2008: I had Maurice euthanized today. About three weeks ago, I noticed swelling under his chin. It seemed to come and go, so after a couple of days I took him to the vet, to see what was up. While there, we noticed that his left front leg and paw was quite swollen too. At first the vet thought he might have an infection, so blood and urine were drawn for testing and I took him home. While waiting for the results, I noticed that the swelling continued to come and go - sometimes hourly - and now included his chest and right front leg. The tests came back and showed no signs of infection. The vet diagnosed him as having congestive heart failure. This was what ultimaely did Scudder in - with one difference. Apparently (and I forget which side causes which) if one side of your heart starts to fail, fluids back up in your lungs and you essentially drown on them. That's what was happening to Scudder. If the other side of the heart starts to fail, however, then the fluids back up under your skin, rather than in your lungs and you swell up. This is what was happening to Maurice. His body was doing the best it could to eliminate the fluids, but not doing a good job of it, which is why the swelling would come and go. He was put on medication (I forget what) to try and get his body to work harder to remove the fluids.

The medication had zero effect. In fact, he got worse. The swelling progressivley spread to his entire body. He quickly could not manage stairs any more, as the strain of lugging the added weight of the excess fluids up and down the stairs exhausted him. He was, sadly, becoming "Jabba the Cat". He confined himself to the loveseat in the livingroom on the first floor of the house and I moved a litter box up from the basement and into the livingroom, so that he could easily and quickly get to it. His appetite was still reasonably good, but I noticed that he could not stand while eating anymore and he would lie down to eat. He was still a happy cat, for the most part though and his "insta-purr" worked just fine. This made it very difficult to decide when to let him go. I didn't want to do it too soon, nor did I want to wait too long, either.

In the end, he made the decision easy for me. I was upstairs in my office and heard him start to meow pathetically. I went downstairs to see what was wrong and discovered that he had gotten into and used the litterbox, but didn't have the strength to get back out again and he was therefore most unhappy (and rightly so). I decided two things, then and there: 1) his quality of life had clearly gone bad and 2) I'd had him as a companion for over 17 years and wasn't going to be selfish enough to try and keep him a few days longer - it was time to let him go.

I called the vet and scheduled it for the end of the next day (today). I spent last night and all day today with him, talking to him, petting him, holding him, spoiling him with all his favorite treats and people food and, of course, crying. Then I took him to the vet and had him euthanized.

As I did with Scudder, I had Maurice cremated after a final viewing, where I got to say my last goodbyes. Now there are two little boxes on the shelf over my monitor, as I type this. The plaque on Maurice's reads:

Maurice
5/7/91 - 8/11/08
"My pretty kitty"

Whenever I think of Scudder and Maurice and how much I miss them, I'm reminded of the song "Mr. Bojangles" where "after twenty years he still grieved" over the death of his dog. My cats are that special to me.

The more observant of you will notice that Maurice was euthanised two years to the day, after Scudder. I knew the date was nearing and wondered if Maurice would make it to it. When I made my final decision to let him go, I noted the date and considered waiting and extra day so they wouldn't be the same, but that would have been selfish of me. What an odd coincidence that it worked out the way it did.

Xena and Yoda are 6 now and in perfect health. It's interesting to note that they seemed to know, six months in advance, that Maurice was declining. They started having little to do with him and Xena actively took a dislike to him. She no longer allowed him on my bed or even in my bedroom at all, and they both would frequently hiss and growl at him. It was as though they had decided that, being frail and old, he was no longer welcome and they were encouraging him to leave. Strange ... I wonder if that's how it works in the wild, too. In any case, I let him spend his entire last day in what used to be his favorite place - my bed (so there, Xena). :)

One thing, in particular, upset me when Maurice was euthanized. My only experience with euthanation was with Scudder. With him, when he was given the shot, he immediately went limp and that was it. I thought it would be the same with Maurice, but it was not. He thrust his head up in the air and yowled very unhappily, then put his head down. A second or two later, he repeated it. I found it very unnerving and upsetting. I told the vet, none too kindly I'm afraid, that I thought it was supposed to be immediate, without time for him to know what was happening and be afraid, which is how he appeared to be. She was disturbed as well and said she had given him a double dose (which is common apparently, specifically to avoid this kind of situation). She ran to get another dose, but by the time she returned he was, mercifly, gone. What had taken a couple of seconds, with Scudder, took more like 30, with Maurice. An assitant told me that Maurice likely was not afraid - that it was more probable the solution was cool when it entered him and that it startled him. I don't know, but it really disturbed and, perhaps wrongly, angered me, which is definitely not how I wanted to be during Maurice's last moments. Someday, many years from now I hope, when Xena and Yoda are at the end of their lives, I will have to try and remember that it doesn't always go smoothly, ask the vet to do whatever they can to avoid it and steel myself for whatever happens. No matter what, even if Maurice did (maybe) suffer a tiny bit in those last few seconds, it was far quicker and preferable to the suffering he would have gone through had I tried to hang onto him until he died at home.


ste AT smxy DOT org