About three years ago, an obviously aged cat wandered onto Milagro Acres. She was shy at first, but hung around until feeding time, and then mooched a meal. After about the third day of this, we decided to let her stay, and we affectionately called her Mooch.
The first sign of trouble was when the other cats began to chase her away from "their" feeding area. They were not as anxious to share as we were. Jim placed a pan on the top of a post at the end of the old rail fence, and Mooch ate all of her meals there. Jim often had to stay there long enough for her to eat, as she was fairly pokey about it, and the other cats were not patient. They eagely chased her away and stole her food when given a chance!
The first winter of her stay, she managed to find secure lodging in the wood pile by the barn. I must explain here that inviting her into the house was never considered. We didn't know where she came from, but she seemd content to be outside with the other "barn" cats.
When it was really cold, Jim would feed her wet cat food, patienty standing by her until she got her fill, before letting the other cats have their share.
As she got even older, she was not able to groom herself as thoroughly as the younger cats, so in time her long fur became somewhat tangled. I thought it looked like dred-locks, and I found it charming and endearing. An occasional visitor would suggest that we take her to town and have her groomed, but since she wouldn't be able to keep it up, we decided to let nature take care of it. It was not a universally accepted decision, but one that we agreed was the best choice for her and for us.
What was to be her last winter, Mooch claimed the wood box by the front door as her place to sleep through the rainy season. Honoring Mooch's choice, Jim moved the wood pellets into the house, and placed an old sleeping bag in the box. Soon, nestled in the folds of the blanket was Mooch's favorite thing in the whole world, an old, snug fitting cardboard box. Mooch slept more and more, and seemd to wake up only for feeding time, or for the occasional broken egg that we brought back for her from the chicken house. It was a special treat for her.
By spring it was obvious that Mooch was getting very old. Jim noticed that she appeard to be deaf. He made sure she could smell her food so that she could continue to eat, even if it meant picking her up and placing her on the fence post. Her movements became slower, and she slept more and more.
By June of this year, she was looking bedraggled and uncared for. To some, it appeared that she was being neglected, because her dred-locks were NOT lovely to look at, and she was getting more frail by the day. Together, we gave her a "fur-cut" and a warm bath. While most cats hate the water, once she realized that the water had been heated, she relaxed in Jim's arms and just sort of snuggled (if that is possible) down into the warmth.
The hair-cut of course made her look even more skinny and malnourished. She could have easily won an "ugly-cat-of-the-year" award. She also was beginning to show symptoms of dementia. Sometimes she seemed alert, and sometimes she looked around as if in a fog.
When Mooch was looking her absolute worst, the grandkids came to visit. Four year old Link took one look at Mooch, and it was love at first sight. He held her every chance he got. He carried her around the acres. I showed him how to carry her so he wouldn't hurt her ribs. Mooch received more tender loving care in the last week of her life than she could ever have wanted. When the kids left for the airport, it was Mooch and Mamma cat that got all the hugs and kisses. We had to beg for ours!
As we were leaving for Portland, I noticed that Mooch was walking down our road, and seemed to have no idea where she was. I stopped the car and tried to get her to move, but, being deaf, she just didn't know I was there. I picked her up and put her on the side of the road, hoping that she would be safe until our return.
Pulling back into our lane later that same day, there was Mooch, looking bewildered and lost, standing in the middle of the driveway. Jim stopped the car, honked, and Mooched (though she probably felt our presence more than heard it) moved just enough for us to get by. In her confusion, she immediately returned to the spot when she had been, (and where we could not see her) and was killed instantly by our car as we slowly approached the house.
Jim was heart-broken, and I was sick to my stomach. It was time for her to go, I know, but it is always a sickening feeling when one is responsible for the death of a pet. Sometimes animals seem to be unaware of what they are doing, but there are times when I do wonder who is the most knowledgeable. Was it REALY an "accident" or was Mooch so ready to go that the Great Cat in the sky put her where she needed to be to have a quick and painless death?
R.I.P Mooch. You are still missed, and we talk about you every day. Hope you like the marker that we made for you. xxoo
