My sweet precious Molly. Rest in peace, sweetheart.
Molly has been gone for two days now, and we’re slowly adjusting to her not being here any more. The shock of her death is beginning to lessen.
What happened? We don’t really know. I came home from shopping on Tuesday afternoon, and Molly greeted us as usual, asking to be fed. After eating, she wandered off, as she always did.
Later that evening, I heard a strange noise. Wondering what the kitty was doing, I went to investigate, but couldn’t find her. A few minutes later, I heard the noise again. Again, I went to investigate, but this time Molly met me in the hallway, hissing and growling at me. I told her to knock it off, but she got more and more agitated. I realized that she was going to attack me.
I ran into the living room with her hot on my heels, to grab my spray bottle. Andrew yelled at her, which slowed her down, although she did manage to get a claw or two into me. I sprayed her with water, and backed her into a bedroom, where we shut the door to keep her in there.
An hour later, Andrew let her out, thinking she was over whatever her problem was. But she wasn’t. She stalked around the kitchen and finally settled in the hallway where she glared at me nonstop. She acted like she was going to race into the living room to attack me again. I showed her the spray bottle, which kept her in check. Andrew finally was able to get her into the basement. She spent the night on the steps, clawing at the door, and howling. We both hated it, but we were afraid she would attack us in our sleep if we let her out.
The next morning Andrew let her out of the basement (because that’s where her cat case was) and lured her into the front room again. He shut the door, but it didn’t catch, and she got out. I was in the kitchen, headed for the basement, but Andrew was afraid she was going to come after me again. My wonderful husband put himself in harm’s way to protect me, and put her back in the bedroom. She clawed him and bit him on the thumb, but he got the door closed this time.
I already knew we were going to have to have her put down. Even if she was normal in the morning, I would always wonder when it was going to happen again. But now I knew we would have to get help to get her into the case. I called the city animal control officer. He came right out, and had to use the stick with the loop on the end of it to catch her. But he got her in there. I had already called the vet and made an appointment.
When we got to the vet, they wanted to know if Molly had ever had a rabies shot. She hadn’t. She had always been an indoor cat, so I thought she didn’t need it. So the upshot was that they would have to send her head down to Lansing to be tested for rabies. We could have quarantined her for ten days, but with her violent, out-of-control, aggressive behavior, that wasn’t an option.
I had wanted to bring her home from the vet and bury her in a snowbank til spring. Then I had planned to bury her near the pine trees in the back yard. But it wasn’t to be. I think that hurt the worst. For some reason she had completely turned on me. She was a one-person cat, even though she liked Andrew well enough. But I was her person, so to have this happen was devastating. I couldn’t hold her or pet her or say goodbye. I could only look at her in the case, while she glared at me, hissing and growling. My Molly was already gone. I looked her in the eyes and told her I loved her.
It was so hard to walk away and leave her there, knowing what was going to happen to her. Andrew and I were just devastated. And then there was the worry that he might need to take the rabies shots. The vet said it was highly unlikely that it was rabies. He thought she might have a brain tumor, or something else wrong. And the vet was right. The country health department called today with the news that the rabies test on Molly came back negative. So that’s a relief, to know that Andrew won’t have to go through the rabies shots.
Looking back, I can see that Molly had been having problems for at least a month. She had always been a very dominant cat who would have happily run the household if I had allowed it. She often nipped me for no good reason, although she always got sprayed with water when she did. And she never did like strangers. So it was easy to overlook a few things.
She had been off her food for a day or two several times in the past month or so. And she got very aggressive toward one of Andrew’s friends. When we came back home after Thanksgiving, she didn’t come out to meet us. She hid under the bed and hissed and growled at us when we coaxed her out. We thought it was odd, but she seemed OK once she knew it was us. Looking back, I can see these things, but hindsight is always 20-20.
I do miss her. I don’t have to cover up my loom to keep my kitty off my weaving any more. I don’t have to make sure the closet door in the bathroom is propped open so she can get to her litter box. I don’t have to remember to put up my pin cushion and thread so she can’t play with it. There are so many things I don’t have to do anymore, but I never minded doing them, and I sure wish I was still doing all those things. But I don’t have any regrets. She had a wonderful life with us, even though it was too short. I’m so sorry that her last hours were so horrible, and that’s still hard for me to deal with.
All I can say is that life is so fragile, and you never know when it’s going to end. Love your husband, or your wife. Love your kids. Love your friends, and your pets. You never know what today will bring.