Maggie ... fading away

Sad times are inevitable in each of our lives. We will be having sad times in our house soon. Very soon.

It's Maggie, that long-haired calico cat who has spent over 17 human years with us. My wife has said that if she makes it to late July, she will turn 18. But now, it doesn't look that way.

Maggie is very old by any standard. All those years. When we got her, my son was still in high school. Now, he has been out of college for over 10 years. That's how long it's been. When we first got her, when she was still just a kitten, he would hold her in his lap, petting her, and she would suck on the sleeve of the shirt. One day, it came to me: Maggie, the Simpsons' baby who is always working on her pacifier. Perfect name. Everyone else thought so, too.

All those years didn't matter because Maggie was a voracious eater. Healthy appetite? And how! When Frisky didn't finish her canned cat food at night, Maggie would be right there to polish it off. After Frisky died and we added first Charlie and then Max to the feline population, they would leave a little food in their bowl ... and Maggie would be right there to finish it off. "She's a little pig," I said more than once.

We had noticed her lying down a lot more in recent months, but that never concerned us because she was still eating. She went to the vet about a year ago for a urinary infection, but she bounced back. In the last few years, Maggie has become a lot thinner; over the last year or so, her thick fur coat had thinned out a lot and she seemed to be shedding even more than she has all these years, in patches. There were places on her tummy where she didn't want to be brushed. Still, she still doing well, all things considered.

Until a week or so. Don't know how it came up. Maybe I noticed she was lying down a lot more than before and hardly walking around. Maybe she seemed in pain when she hopped down from a chair where she had been curled up. (We put boxes next to her favorite chairs, to act as steps.) But when we saw that she was hardly eating any more--just a little water--we knew this was very serious.

My wife doesn't want to take her to the vet--what could she do for an 18-year-old cat, anyway?--so we are trying to make Maggie's remaining time as comfortable as possible. We are carrying her upstairs to her favorite sleeping places, and we have steps in more places. My wife always has loved holding and petting and cuddling Maggie, and Maggie would purr her happiness loudly. So now I am telling her to be kind to her, to not let her try to jump down, to hold her very gently and to think back on all the time they have shared for the last dozen and a half years.

She carried Maggie upstairs tonight. She laid her in the space next to her pillow, the place she has slept for years. Maggie is very weak now. I sat by her and petted her head for a few minutes. She seemed to want to purr, but it's very hard for her to do that now.

Oh, these little ones that come into our lives! They enter as kittens and puppies, and then they grow up, and their time nears an end. Cats I have loved and lost. Our own Princess. Then, Frisky, who was joined by Maggie about six months later. Frisky died in early 2008, and we added Charlie and Max. A three-cat family.

But not for much longer. We are in for sad times. I hope we can remember that we have had a lot of happy times with Maggie, too. Can't hold on to the past. Revere the memory and move on.

It's getting late. Max is looking out the bedroom window. Charlie is wandering around, but I think she is getting ready to curl up for the night. And Maggie is lying next to my wife, the place she has enjoyed the most for all these years.

Sleep well, Maggie. Sleep well.