Mourning Mrs. Douglas
“What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.”
“What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.”
Helen Keller
On Thursday night, at the end of National Love Your Pet Day (and, ironically, because this is how my life works, the 35th anniversary of my dad’s passing) we said a sad goodbye to our beloved cat, Mrs. Douglas. She was 11. Maybe 12. We were never quite sure.
Back in August 2009, we were ready for a new cat after losing our previous kitty nearly a year earlier. We wanted a slightly older cat than a kitten because I was commuting an average of 3 hours each day to work, we had a gorgeous brand new two-year-old house, The Husband had a stressful soul-sucking job, and The Boy and The Girl were 7. We needed this cat to live a good long time, I remember us saying, “well into high school, maybe even into college.”
The Girl and I browsed listings of adoptable cats for several weeks until this one popped up on the Delaware Humane Association’s website:
I’m a cute little black kitty with a white spot on my chest. I have beautiful eyes! I was thought to be a boy by the family that found me. They called me Douglas, but I fooled them because I’m a little GIRL! Hence DHA added the Mrs. to my name. I’m small but full grown. I’m active, friendly, playful and affectionate. I don’t claw the furniture, I don’t bite, and I don’t climb the drapes. I’m telling you, I’M GREAT! I really enjoy playing with stuffed animals. I like children and have lived with other cats. I am just in need of affection and I REALLY want to be part of a family. Perhaps you can come and check me out and see how nice I am. Just ask to see MRS. Douglas! I’ll probably be rubbing up against your legs…so look down when you come in!
You can read the full story of her adoption here:
Fast forward a decade.
Douglas (I was the only one who kept the formalities) hadn’t been herself since Christmas — losing weight, not pooping or eating regularly, hiding in a closet. We took her to the vet on January 17 and she was down to 7.5 lbs. Bloodwork and x-rays were normal otherwise. They gave her shots for anti-nausea and one to rehydrate her, but she continued not eating much and only pooping every few days.
We took her back to the vet on Thursday night and she had lost another two pounds. Our wonderful vet strongly suspected cancer. We could have tried steroid shots but the vet thought that would only buy us a few weeks, maybe a month or so. Not wanting to put her through surgery biopsies, chemo, multiple shots and vet visits — not to mention the cost — we made the heartbreaking decision to let her go.
Douglas, I’m betting you probably didn’t know what you were getting yourself into when you chose us as your family in August 2009. But just as we rescued you from the Delaware Humane Association, you rescued us by always providing some laughter and an abundance of comfort during many difficult times.
You were the consummate lap cat, a faithful companion during many Eagles and Yankees seasons and a true fan of the TV show “Dallas.” (You always perked up whenever you heard the theme song on The Husband’s playlist.) You were The Husband’s companion during his darkest days, as his own health declined.
You raced around the house so fast that we were convinced you were part horse. You could go from zero to 125 mph in a nanosecond. You’d come careening around the hallway, through the living room, and leap onto your perch on the window sill so fast that we swore you would go right through the window itself.
You were an acrobat, a pro at the forward roll, master of walking on a tightrope (also known as our railing) and always thrilled (or perplexed) at your own tail, often chasing it and making us crack up.
You were extremely literary.
You were a loyal DemoCAT.
You bravely protected the house from every sort of bug. You enjoyed visiting with the birds, squirrels and rabbits outside, safely from your sunny perch in the windowsill. Your nemesis, the orange tabby cat, was no match for you.
You had only two teeth for the last few years of your life, but you were a trooper during the surgery and didn’t let only two teeth stop you from enjoying your food and eagerly awaiting any dropped morsel in the kitchen.
You enjoyed opening drawers, playing with plastic bags, banging cabinets, and — your favorite — jumping into the Christmas tree. You would never be deterred by the evil water spray bottle.
You were a faithful greeter every day when I came home from work, rushing into the bedroom for a few moments of playtime. When we came home from vacation, you would be waiting for us at the steps.
You and The Boy had a lukewarm relationship, but you were both okay with that and respected each other regardless. Most of all, you were The Girl’s cat, giving her so much love and joy during times of fractured friendships and as she discovered who she was. You survived her One Direction phase. You spent many hours in her room, being her creative muse and listening to her secrets. In The Girl’s own words, you were her best friend.
You were the best cat and we were so lucky to call you ours for 10 years. We’ll miss and love you forever, Mrs. Douglas. Sleep warm.
