Twelve years, I hope I was a good cat owner.

I’m sorry to report that yesterday Nemo was ‘put to sleep’.  This is the language used by the vet.  I have to say I was impressed by the compassion shown not just by the vet but by all the staff we came into contact with.  I feel guilty, like I have participated in a crime.  If it were me I would just want nature to take it’s course, in line with my religious beliefs.  But I have gone against them in Nemo’s case.  Nemo has been housebound for a couple of weeks since we took him to the vets and they told us he had a  tumour.  I asked how long?  A shrug of shoulders, it could be weeks, it could be months.  In the end it was 13 days.  In those days he ate for England and the shine was returning to his coat, although he wasn’t grooming himself.  I guess he gained a little weight too.  The vet said he lost 2.5 kg two weeks ago.  I’m an old fashioned kind of guy, all pounds and stones so had to do a conversion.  Eleven pounds.  I would be pleased if I could lose eleven pounds but on a cat?  He was all bones except for where the tumour was.  Yet in those two weeks he resumed his position at the top of the pecking order and at night I could hear him chasing Molly and Fifi away if they annoyed him.  Sometimes I found the bin upturned, whilst he was looking for food.  I shared a doner kebab with him and the other two, and I never get a doner normally.  Sometimes he’d leave a little surprise for us around the house, but he also used the litter tray.  Always the first to race down for his food when he heard the spoon parcelling up the tuna.  That’s if he wasn’t in the kitchen already.  If the fridge or oven opened, he would be there sniffing an opportunity.  So you see, he had lost none of his zest for food.  One difficulty was keeping him in.  He was desperate to return to our neighbours two doors away.  And he’d lie sprawled across the back door in hope.  Once he escaped, so we went back to our neighbours and retrieved him.  I hope the last 13 days were more good than bad for Nemo.  But when he started crying out and sleeping in an unusual position and finding places to hide we knew his time was coming to an end.  Cats do that when they’re dying, they find a corner somewhere to go quietly.  I hope the end when it came was quick and as painless as possible.  And I hope I can stop feeling guilty.

Nemo doing his favourite thing.

Jpeg

His second favourite thing,

Nemo in the last week, looking outside.

And then looking at me.

His sister Molly.

Jpeg

And adopted mummy in the background.

Last moments.

In happier days.  Good bye Nemo.  It was nice having another male around.