Circling the Drain, Feline Style

Both my parents died relatively young: My mother was 62 and my father was 70. (Or 72, depending on who you ask.) So while I deeply mourned their early passings, I was spared the horror of seeing them disintegrate before my very eyes, a sad situation I have watched many of my friends endure. So I guess it's fair that I now have an old cat, who at age 19 or 20 -- depending on who you ask -- is slowly dying, or as one friend said bluntly, "circling the drain."

Big Lurch, his proper name at birth, was once a fierce competitor of the feline world. A Maine Coon who in his prime topped the scales at 18 pounds, he was down to 10 at his last vet visit and grows thinner every day. I'm pretty sure he is deaf and half-blind, with a touch of arthritis.

Even worse, he has feline dementia, also known as cognitive dysfunction syndrome, which says it all. He is demented and dysfunctional to the max, and yet on top of his skeletal, un-cuddly body, his face is as beautiful and adorable as ever. 

Cats like Lurch are very demanding, sort of like a crotchety old person in a nursing home who hates the food, is always too cold, and splits his time staring out the window for hours or complaining loudly about everything. In his own way he tells me minute by minute that he is unhappy, or in pain, or wants treats, or wants to go outside, or wants to come back inside. His thirst is unquenchable, causing him to pee in his two litter boxes approximately 500 times every day. If I don't empty them immediately he will pee on the floor next to the box. As a result, I have stopped accepting all invitations in order to stay home and scoop his litter, since cleaning the floor is so much worse.

My conclusion is that God makes sure everyone gets a little of everything.