My wife had her cat put to sleep Thursday. The creature was peeing everywhere. We had it holed up in a small room in the basement with food, water and the litter box (it wasn't dorm room small, so she didn't shit where she ate.) After six months of watching her limp from arthritic hips, a month of solitary confinement and a week of anti-biotics for a let's-see-if-it's-a urinary tract infection, my wife decided it was time.
I was ready to get rid of Ubu about 10 years ago when I first met her. She didn't cover her poop and she tipped over glasses, especially full wine glasses. She constantly picked fights with my cat. She constantly tried to sleep on my infant daughter's chest. She was a total pain in the ass. About one month ago she ran away and I hoped she met a quick food-chain death at the hands of a neighborhood fox. I looked in a few shelters for my wife's sake, and was surprised by my happy reaction when I saw a cat that at first glance looked like Ubu. I got a call after four days from a neighbor who found her cold and hungry. I was bummed when I walked down the street to retrieve her.
Just as I was stunned by my joy at thinking I found her in a shelter, I was stunned by how sad I was when I cleaned out her litter box and mopped up the hairball stains on Friday. I'm still sad. And I think I'll be sad for a while. I say this because I still miss my cat, Tosh. I put her down January 5, 2008. The fifth of the month must be a good day for a cat to die in my household.
I'm reminded of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" where Pirsig explores the change in life's pattern after the death of his son. I assume it will take some time to get used to this new pattern.
Good bye, Ubu. My daughter and wife really loved you. And I miss you.
