Because I’ve become more mindful, these days, of the fact that both of my cats are in advanced old age, I decided to go online and see if I could find their equivalent human age. Buddy and Spanky are both nineteen, and it turns out that, in human years, they’ve even older than my 87 year-old mum! According to numerous online sources, they’re 92 years-old.
It’s not as if I didn’t know they were getting up there in years. I’ve written about Buddy’s dementia in more than one column, here. But apart from a bit of senility and failing hearing, Bud’s still surprisingly healthy: his appetite is good, giving him a “well-fed” appearance, and he still enjoys a bit of catnip on occasion. Spanky, on the other hand, looks quite a bit like my mum: frail and wobbly, and thin as a rail. I know that Spanky eats, his body just doesn’t seem to absorb the calories anymore.
So I went online and purchased a high-calorie gel, and I’ve been adding it to his afternoon snack. I can’t say whether it’s working or not. It may simply be one of those situations in which I feel better for having made the effort on Spanky’s behalf.
Spanky hasn’t bothered with his coat for some time now. Apparently, it’s more work than he wants to do. You may not know this, but cat saliva has cleansers and deodorisers in it, which explains why your dog will become smelly after a while, but your cat won’t. I’ve tried to spend a little time every day grooming Spanky’s coat, but it’s of limited effectiveness without the benefit of the aforementioned saliva.
Spanky used to be quite a photogenic cat. He seemed to understand that I was recording his image, and so he would move around just a little: maybe reach out a paw toward the camera, or turn his head toward the sunlight streaming in through the nearby window. I got some gorgeous shots of him, down the years, for just that reason. Indeed, the picture that accompanies this article is one of those photos.
Of course, when cats have reached the age that my two have, one becomes very aware of mortality. Nineteen is a fairly unusual length of time for a cat to live, after all; how much longer can they realistically go? I confess that I’ve given some thought lately as to what to do with Spanky’s body, once he’s gone. I generally reserve cremation for those extra-extra-special pets because I moved about quite a bit in younger years, and preferred the benefit of having transportable ashes.
While Spanky doesn’t fall into the category of extra-extra-special, I’m no less concerned about where he spends his eternity. Because he’s always been a needy, high maintenance cat, he’d be lonely if he was buried in the ground by himself. I decided that I would bury him next to the bones of 3-legged Gracie Ellen Tripod, who died two years ago. Spanky adored Gracie (the feeling was not mutual), so it seems like a fitting place for him to spend eternity.
Why give so much thought to what happens to my cat’s remains? Because I consider it my job to care for my pets from beginning to end, and ending doesn’t just mean the dying part. Giving their bodies a respectful resting place is of equal importance to me – you would do no less for those that you love.
But we’re not quite there, just yet. Spanky may be frail, but he’s still getting up every morning and seeking the sunbeams to lay in. And, if I haven’t moved fast enough with his afternoon snack, he’s sure to let me know about it. So I’ll enjoy the time we have left, and worry about the details of his afterlife when we get there.
