Our Cat Haiku Part Two

Today we had to put down Haiku.

After a long conversation with the vet, it was concluded that it wasn't going to be a matter of finances or whether we couldn't do a lot more for her, it was a matter of her quality of life after any more tests and procedures were performed.

So, today, I'm going to share a few more things about this cat that made her special.  Yes, it's completely self-indulgent, but then again, it's a blog, and that's nothing if not self-indulgent.



Haiku never made much noise.  She'd purr if you just walked into the same room as her, but she rarely ever meowed.  I believe a lot of this was due to her being congested for so many years of her life.  However, there was one exception, and it was usually done in the middle of the night.  Haiku would prowl the house for anything small and cloth-like.  Socks (dirty or clean), underwear, dishtowels, washcloths, cat toys, dog toys, those little microfiber cloths for cleaning glasses, all were fair game for her.  She'd pick them up in her mouth, carry them to the base of the primary staircase in the house, and start meowing at the top of her lungs.

She had a very piercing meow, bordering on a bit of a scream, and wouldn't stop until either someone got up, walked out, and found her (at which point she'd perk up and start purring), or after a half hour she'd get bored and go on to something else.

Something I always loved about her was how she'd "chirp" when you surprised her.  If she was asleep and you suddenly pet her, or if you sneaked up behind her and poked her, she'd let out a surprised "chirp" as she turned/awoke to see what was happening.

Haiku loved boxes, baskets, buckets, tubs, anything with four sides around it that was smaller than a single room.  If you placed a large box in the middle of a room and turned your back, Haiku would walk up and jump right in, not even caring if there was anything in it.  She'd also squeeze herself into extremely small baskets and boxes, even if she was hanging out the sides with the amount of fur she had.

Haiku would regularly sleep in baskets around the house, particularly when there were other people in the room.  She had a few personal favorites, but pretty much anything she could climb into and squish herself in was probably already used by her at some point for that purpose.

Haiku regularly had problems with matted fur.  The mats would start deep on her stomach, and Haiku was always touchy about being felt around her stomach.  It wouldn't be uncommon for her to roll onto her back when you pet her, but the moment your hand was near her belly she'd grab your hand with her front paws and teeth (not to hurt you, but just holding on tightly) and then would start to "rabbit kick" your hand with her back paws.

At times the mats would get so bad we had to have her shaved down to a "lion cut," leaving just the hair on her head, feet, and tail.  You could usually expect her to sulk for hours after one of these was performed.

Haiku never wanted cat treats.  No matter what kind you offered her, she'd just look at it and then rub against you wanting attention.

Haiku refused to believe that anybody sitting down didn't want her in their lap.  It wasn't uncommon for her to leap on a lap, be picked up and tossed off just to land, turn, and jump directly back on before the tosser could react.  She particularly loved my father's lap, and for years it was her regular spot in the evening on the couch if we were watching something on the television.

Haiku lost her hearing some time ago, and was never bothered by vacuum cleaners or other loud sounds.  A man came to clean the chimney one year with a large, industrial vacuum cleaner.  Haiku was already curled up in front of the wood stove, and the man commented that she was going to get scared by the vacuum.  He turned it on, the room filled with the roar of the engine...and Haiku simply looked up at the machine, looked at us, and then rolled onto her back, wanting attention.

Haiku couldn't handle foods with grain.  She would always get sick and throw the food back up.  She also loved to try and sneak dry food out of the dog's food bowl, despite the fact that she always threw that back up almost immediately as it expanded with moisture.

Haiku would regularly walk in while you were cleaning out the cat box and make a "deposit" in the middle of your cleaning, before giving you a look that seemed to say either, "go ahead, I can make messes just as often as you clean them" or, "well, if you're here anyway, I'll get this over with so you can clean it up, too."

Haiku loved to chase squirrels, even though she was rarely outside.  When we did let her out (before she would regularly get lost), she'd often crouch under a bush and watch the squirrels at the feeder, but they were always too fast for her.  I don't believe she ever caught anything outdoors.  Inside, she'd regularly sit at windows and watch the birds and squirrels in the yard, running from window to window to be able to see them better.

Haiku loved to be in the garage, even with the doors closed.  We'd let her out, and she'd just explore every single nook and cranny before wanting to come back in.  We'd often peek out to find her sitting on a car hood, watching us.

Haiku had a strange love/hate relationship with her son.  You'd see the two of them curled up together, asleep, or bathing each other or just sitting near each other...and other times she'd simply walk up and smack him in the face or try to bite him.  She once managed to give him an abscess over one eye, and it wasn't uncommon to see her chasing the other (younger, larger) cat around the house until we broke them up.

Haiku loved to be around people.  If you were cooking, she'd just sit in the kitchen and watch you.  She wouldn't want treats, or food, or even attention sometimes, she just wanted to be around you.

Haiku always managed to find the absolute worst place to sleep, whether in the middle of a hallway, right on top of a keyboard in the middle of a person's work, or simply in front of whatever project you were planning on working on that day, luck was usually on her side that you'd have to move her before you could get anything done or avoid stepping on her.

Haiku loved to ride on shoulders.  If you put her so you were supporting her back and her front paws were on your shoulder, she'd snuggle against your neck tightly and sit there all day if you let her.  However, she hated being picked up without full support under her.  If you just tried to scoop her up with one hand, she'd twist and turn frantically to be put down until you got a second hand under her.

Haiku was an amazingly special cat, a survivor of things that would kill most other cats, and had a personality I never saw in a cat before.  Everybody who met her loved her, and even the doctors we took her to would regularly call to check in on her months after her visit, or reduce the amount they charged because they just wanted her to be healthy.

Last night, when she was curled up in her bed and my family had settled on taking her to her usual vet this morning to confirm that there was nothing else we could do for her, I sat alone with her for a while and pet her.  She couldn't turn over without hurting herself, and was still groggy from the drugs they gave her to scan her before.  However, the moment I started petting her, she started purring.

I completely fell apart at that point, because, in my mind, I was completely personifying her behavior to mean that she felt safe and secure because she knew her "people" would make it all better, as we had so many times before.  I thought she was sure she'd be okay, and the fact we couldn't let her know how serious it was killed me.  We all knew that she loved us as much as we loved her, but to simply leave her unaware of what was happening hurt me more than how sick she actually was.  I wanted to believe she knew she was sick and that what we were doing was for the best, or that she was ready somehow for it to happen, but at that moment all I could see was her looking at me and purring because her "people" were taking care of her like we always did.

I loved that cat, and any place I live in will feel emptier without having her curled up somewhere "snorting" as she slept or followed us around, waiting for us to take the time to pet her.