From: Sandeep E. Mukerji (
ab810@FreeNet.Carleton.CA)
Subject: In Memory
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Newsgroups: ncf.sigs.cats, rec.pets.cats
Date: 1995/11/21
When I was younger, I used to have a stuffed cat, a cute little leopard. I called him Kitty (hey, I wasn't even in school yet!) and he was my favourite cat. In 1982, when our neighbours moved out west, we had already been adopted by their cat Simon. It was a slow adoption; he didn't want to come into to eat, always waiting at our side door to be fed. Gradually, usually when it rained, he would accept coming into the kitchen to eat, but only near the door.
We knew we had been adopted when, one day, after finishing his meal, he strolled through the kitchen (his first time away from the door), went into the living room, jumped on one of our couches, cleaned himself and fell asleep. He would have many more naps on our couches in the years to come.
As time passed, Kitty was still my favourite cat, but eventually became my favourite stuffed cat. By the time we moved to Ottawa in 1984, Simon had won my heart. He settled into his new home, quickly setting up his territory around our house and getting into several fights in the process. He became friends with our neighbours cats, He-Man andTeela, and gave grudging respect to our other neighbours' cat, Pekay.
Simon has always been a fighter. He was neutered as a kitten, but Simon still had to defend his turf through growling, spitting and fighting. He earned numerous trips to the vet for ripped claws, ears and bloody noses. Often, the members of our family heard him voicing his complaint with a neighbourhood cat. However, he was always sociable with people. Up to 6 or 7 people and Simon would be sniffing his way past every pant leg, always eager for attention. He shied away from larger groups, though, probably out of fear of being stepped on.
Simon's unique physical characteristic was that he had no tail. When he moved in with us, he didn't have it, and for all I know, he lost it in an accident. This was less of a problem in Halifax, as there were two other cats with no tails either. In Ottawa, he was alone in that respect. Which is why some of his fights may be attributed to mis-communication.
Simon loved to hunt. He would always kill rats, fieldmice and birds on a regular basis, and even took out a rabbit one summer. Chasing squirells was another favourite past-time of his.
We moved again in 1987 to our present house which, at the time, included a small forest at the end of the street. Simon expanded his territory, striking a freindship with the only other cat in the neighbourhood, Muffy. Spending his days out-doors, Simon would lounge on the picnic table, or under a tree, or on a fence post, depending on his mood. During the summer, he would only come in to eat and maybe get some flattery.
Simon never travelled well. Our trips to vet usually ended up with a mess in his cage and a lot of dirty looks and foul language. He visited my grand-parents in Montreal only once for Christmas. He was especially fond of my grand-father, and whenever he visited Ottawa, Simon would always be on his lap or asking for food.
Gradually, Simon showed signs of slowing down in his old age. He no longer jumped on the fence, preferring to sneak under it instead. He was no longer as likely to play with string, though he never lost his appetite for my silk ties or paper bags. He was spending less and less time out-doors in the winter, probably due to arthritis or rheumatism.
As the years went by, Simon and I became more and more attached. It is said that cats will usually adopt one member of the household as their favourite. I was Simon's favourite. When I would go away to my grand-parents house in the summer, Simon would forsake going outside on some days to sleep on my bed. He also seeked out attention from my parents more often. Coming home, my parents would quip that I was happier to see Simon than them. Thinking about it now, they may have been right.
I have always considered Simon to be my best friend. He was my only link to Halifax when we moved in 1984, and even though other friends came and went, Simon was always waiting for me when I got home, usually hungry. He ate much, but never got heavier than 10 pounds.
Unfortunately, we found out how much all that food had affected him one year. The vet thought that his teeth could use a cleaning, so we left him there overnight. However, we got a call that evening saying that Simon's teeth had rotted through, several of them breaking when the vet tried to clean them. When Simon returned home two days later, he was still under heavy sedation and missing seven teeth. For the next two weeks, he drooled everywhere he went and was miserable. Eventually he regained his strength, and I got used to his toothless grin. It added to his character. Simon was 14 years old when his teeth cameout.
The past year was, in hindsight, a year of decline for my best friend. He no longer enjoyed being picked up as often, and negotiated a staircase with a little more patience. He was sleeping more and more often, but his appetite was still as voracious as always. Not one to limit himself to cat food, Simon enjoyed prime cuts of steak, chicken,beef, pork and just about anything else we had.
One holiday, my mother had made a roast, which was wrapped in string. After we had enjoyed ourselves, Simon included, we went to watch some TV. Whem my mother returned later that evening to wrap up the leftovers, what was left of the roast had disappeared. We soon found the culprit, when Simon tried to pass a piece of string, oddly similiar to what was on the roast, a couple of days later.
During the summer of 1995, Simon became deaf. Not totally deaf, for if you shouted loud enough, he was aware of a noise, but couldn't identify its origin. He could also hear the high notes of my guitar as well. WhenI would come home from work around 10-10:30 or so, Simon would be asleep on the front porch and not hear anything until I closed the car door. He would be genuinely startled to see me, which was quite a switch from the days when he could recognize the sound of our car engine.
Simon would sleep pretty much where he pleased, on the couch, in someone's bed, a pile of laundry or, when we packed for a vacation, in a suitcase. You always knew where he had slept when he shed his winter coat in April and May.
In September, we took him back to the vet for his annual shots against rabies and the vet noticed what turned out to be an eye infection. Aftera few days of eye-drops, all was well again with him. However, in October,he began to lose his bladder control and urinated blood, usually only a couple of drops. Back at the vet, it was decided to try anti-biotics, in the form of a pill, for 10 days.
Because of his numerous fights, Simon had been through the routine ofpills. He hated them. It was always a fight to get him to take his pill, usually requiring two people. We soon learned to make sure he actually swallowed the pill, after my mother caught him spitting out a pill, and finding several others scattered around the house. He was old, but he wasn't stupid.
The anti-biotics seemed to work, as his bladder worked again. The blood was gone and all was well again. When the cold weather arrived again, Simon became lethargic and started spending most of his day in the basement. We had to go downstairs, pick him up and bring him to the kitchen to eat, which he did ravenously, but soon skulked off to the basement again. About a week later, I discovered lumps on the back of his head and on his side. Another trip to vet was inconclusive, so he was again put on a regimen of pills.
Thursday, November 16th, 1995, I brought Simon out of the basement to feed him and to give him his pill. As he trudged back to the basement, I decided to take his brush, and give him a good grooming. He relished the attention, purring loudly as a stroked his fur with the brush and looking mighty proud of himself. I discovered a fourth lump on his stomach that night.
Friday night, I went to work and then out with my friends afterwards. Arriving home late, I was surprised to see my mother sleeping on the couch. Unbeknownst to me, Simon had taken a turn forthe worse that evening, and my mother didn't want to leave him alone that night.
When I awoke Saturday morning, I was started to see the pathetic sight before me. Simon, all wrapped up in blankets, resting on his side on the couch. I went to comfort him, yet he did not purr. In fact, he didn't even seem to be aware of who I was. I had to go to work that morning, soI left him for the day, but my thoughts never strayed far from him while I was at work.
When my father came to pick me up that afternoon, he told me that Simon had made no improvements. He had tried to walk after eating, but his hindlegs would no longer support him. While I was eating my lunch, Simon had walked on his own for the last time. As I listened to my father describe Simon's situation, I found myself crying for the first time.
At home, Simon looked as lost as ever. That night, we were all supposed to go out to celebrate my father's 50th birthday. Several of his friends and my mother's friends were to join them, however to no one's surpise, I stayed home with my best friend. Most of the night he spent staring into space, though he would have moments of lucidity, and I would try to get some water into him and some food. I didn't get much of either into him.
Sunday brought about no change. For the first time in my life, I was comtemplating life without Simon. I spent most of the day with him on the couch, trying to give him some water. In the early evening, he drank some of his favourite cat milk, but it was too little too late. Early Monday morning, my mother made an appointment with the vet.
I spent Monday at school, talking to no one. I wrote a test that I hardly studied for, and got home as fast as I could. Simon was till lying on the couch, but he knew I was home and tried to stand. I settled on the couch and put him, all wrapped up in blankets, on my chest and fell asleep. At four o'clock, my mother and I drove him to the vet. Getting his last hurrah, he peed on my mohter's coat (we didn't bother with the cage). Right to the end, he hated travelling.
The vet arrived and told us bluntly that Simon was not well. He suspected lymphatic cancer, since the anti-biotics had done nothing for his lumps. I hated to do it, but the decision was made to lay him to rest. Surgery, said the vet, would give him maybe 6 months more, but in what shape? I looked deep into Simon's eyes as his front paw scratched at my hand. The vet gave him the injection, and my mother and I stroked Simon and talked to him softly as he took his last breath, November20th, 1995. He was 18 1/2 years old.
In the vet's office, I struggled not to cry, only partially succeding, but once I held Simon's limp body in the car, I burst. Thirteen years of friendship was over. I would no longer hear him meow for food, growl for territory, or purr in happiness. The strongest link to my childhood was gone forever. I cried again.
Looking back, I believe Simon knew it was over. The vet said that Simon was waiting for death, which gives reason to Simon's choice of going into a corner of the computer room every day. He knew he was ill two weeks before we did and was patiently waiting for the end.
I do not regret putting him to sleep, in that I knew it was better for him, but how I wish we could have had more time together. My life seems hollow since he died. His warmth, companionship and unquestionned affection live only in my memory now and his image is in pictures and mind only.
But, for the first time in too long a time, I slept with Kitty again.
To Simon, I am priviledged to have been your best friend for 13 years. Our time together was the best time of my life. Wherever you are, I hope that you are better now, that the pain is gone and you can hear my thoughts and joy and my sobs of grief. The house is colder without you. I look forward to the day when we will be together again in eternity.
Rest in Peace, best friend. I will love you forever.
Sandeep
-- SIMON
Born May 31st, 1977, Halifax, NS;
Died Nov. 20th, 1995, Ottawa, ON.
Rest In Peace, dear friend
