Like our other pets through the years, Chase was a rescue -- he was a stray no one seemed to claim or want. We didn't plan to keep the long-haired, gray, baby kitten so we called him simply "Baby Cat" for the first six months or so of his life. After my son saved the kitten's life by rescuing him from the fishing line in the garage wrapped around his throat and growing tighter as he struggled to free himself, we realized he was part of our family, and we officially named him Chase.
In his prime, he weighed a whopping 22 pounds and hunted every day. He adored me and loved me unconditionally, protecting me from evil vermin. I always called him, "My Diamond in the Rough," as I sensed that below the surface he only followed polite house cat rules to please me.
Five years ago at the age of 14, I noticed he didn't want out as often and didn't jump on the deck railing anymore to tap at the kitchen window when he wanted in. I didn't realize at that point why his behavior had changed. Later, I understood he was getting older and those things were harder for him to do. His long, beautiful gray hair began matting to the extent I couldn't comb the mats out or trim them anymore, so we started taking him once a year at the beginning of summer to have the groomer give him a buzz cut. I had to laugh the first time we picked him up as the groomer left longer hair around his face and at the end of his tail. He looked like The Lion King, but he seemed to understand, that like senior citizens, he needed help with something he couldn't do for himself anymore.
When the young punk of an upstart kitten belonging to my daughter came to stay with us for a couple of months before her wedding, an older, wiser, more mature Chase got tired of the whippersnapper's antics one afternoon, and simply pinned the anti-social youngster to the ground with one paw and held him there until the young'un decided to surrender and quit bothering or hissing at the big cat. Chase was simply well adjusted and used to a menagerie of other animals about him -- he was also tough enough to handle anything or anyone, including the hyper-active kitten.
Chase finally gave up going outside at all. I think he realized he wasn't the active, young hunter anymore, and his arthritis made him yearn instead for a sun bath. Chase's arthritis became more evident, and he could no longer jump up on anything or down. I decided to make a bed of fleece blankets Matt donated so Chase could have a bed beside mine since I was afraid I would not hear him in the night when he wanted down from my bed. I didn't want him to hurt himself or break a brittle bone if he jumped. Chase adjusted to his bed beside mine. He got up usually at least once in the middle of the night, like an old man, to go to the bathroom and refuel. He always meowed politely to let me know he needed covered back up with his favorite Star Wars blanket, and then purred. Again, like an elderly person, he seemed to be cold more than he used to be. I could feel his ears and tell he wasn't making that up.
Two years ago, I found Chase using the bathroom on the plastic lid underneath the palm tree in the dining room. I couldn't figure out what the issue was; Chase never missed the litterbox. I chewed him out and took him downstairs to remind him the litterbox was in the laundry room. He had several more accidents, never on the floor, but only on the plastic lid under Palmie. The vet checked him and shook his head. Nothing was seemingly wrong physically, but the vet had some dire warnings. I went home, thought about the problem, and decided to bring the litter box upstairs to the bathroom. Chase was as good as gold using the litterbox in the new location. I'm sure he tried to communicate his relief with a wise, cat smile. He couldn't do stairs anymore and had been trying to tell me.
According to Dr. Ricky, Chase may be elderly, but he has a good heart. Tumors began growing in his ears a few years back, however, and the vet couldn't help him. He told us that eventually the cat would be deaf. He is. Totally. I still talk to him because I think he can sense what I'm trying to say. I just have to remember that when it's time to eat, for instance, I have to go over to touch him if he's asleep, or give him a hand motion, otherwise, to come to the kitchen.
As he's aged, Chase has become more arthritic and lost lots of muscle. He doesn't run and play like he used to, but how many elderly people do, and he sleeps a great deal of the time. Last year when the vet saw him, he told me to look at how his eyes didn't dilate in the light anymore, and that he would eventually lose his sight. He has. Numerous times when I'm sitting in the recliner in the living room, I will see him pass by me and go to the computer chair in the dining room and stare up at it because he thinks I'm there; I'm not.
Just this week, I noticed Chase walked into a wall. Ginger, my 3 year old cat, figured out she had the upper hand and was like a ninja. She would sneak up on him, flog her girly paw at him a couple of times, and run. He couldn't see her, and she would be gone, so he only flogged air. Last weekend Matt carried the cat litter sack in and left it in front of the sink in the bathroom. I discovered Chase walking along the line of cabinets to the litter box, but he was stopped by the 25 pound sack in his right-of-way. When he tried to move over to go around, he couldn't see and moved too far to the left, bumping into the bathroom scales; he couldn't find his way through. I told Matt we can't put anything in his way.
Yesterday, and again today, I saw Chase go up to the television and put his face right next to the screen. I couldn't figure out what he was doing at first. After being that close to the screen, he turned in one direction and moved in a direct line to one of his favorite spots in front of the heating vent. He used the tv to get his bearings.
It tugs at my heart to see my beloved cat struggle with daily tasks, but I know he's not in any pain. He's still the loving, purring guy who makes me smile. He still loves his "kitty crack," and actually stands under the coffee table and howls for it each morning. And, he howls loud enough to wake the dead (he can't hear himself). He really doesn't play with his toys, but he wants the catnip on them, and then he lays down contentedly on top of them. Perhaps the catnip has medicinal powers?
He's lost some weight, so I upgraded some of his food to a little better type. He seems pleased, but he still likes Meow Mix available whenever he wants a quick snack. He eats and drinks well, and doesn't let me forget if I'm late feeding him.
We are keepers of God's creatures. I try to make sure my Big Boy has whatever he needs and is happy. I know his life has been a good one, and mine has certainly been better for having him be a part of it. I truly wish no person or animal had to age after a certain point, and no one had the ravages of old age creep up. In the meantime, I think we have to live each moment and appreciate every nanosecond of our time together with out loved ones, human and animal :)
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