Thanks for All the Years Zoe

Dad had to put Zoe down last night.

She started knuckling, which meant that she was no longer able to operate her own left back foot and instead of sitting on it, like a rabbit sits on its long haunches, she was dragging her foot, and later her leg around. Her kidneys had started to go and she was losing weight fast, so it didn't surprise me when I knew the time had come. It's just that no matter how you know the time is coming, it still hurts.

Make no mistake---I've seen my fair share, more than my fair share of the life cycle. Animals are small, you love them as babies, they grow older, and inevitably decline. As loving guardians, our job is to be strong enough to end their lives when they have no quality of life left, or they are suffering. I've been a part of this process several times and have seen many beloved animals go to the grave; my dearest Henry, Arthur, Nell, Mr. Jeeves, Bear---just to name a few.

Zoe was never my favorite cat; but her presence will be missed, perhaps more than the others. She was the last living member of what I call the "Old Gang"---the cats that adopted us (or did we adopt them?) when we moved into our house on Oleander in the late summer of 1992. She was perhaps the oldest cat we've ever had and we saw her go from infancy, to motherhood when she had two litters. We got her fixed as soon as we could and she lived outside amidst our lush garage garden for many years, until she had an accident and ripped one of her toe nails out. We took her to the vet and thought she was too old, although she was only middle-aged and still wily, to live outside. On the eve of my mother's baby cat, Nell, being put down, that very week, (or was it the day?) we had to help Zoe, and it was her turn to come inside and live with us in a more domesticated setting.

She had a full fluffy tail then, and until my girls came, long, silky haired giants, I thought Zoe had the biggest tail I'd ever seen. She was unique in her voice. I've never heard a cat cry with so high a pitch, almost like a bird calling in the trees, and my friend, Jessica, called her "the bird cat" since then. She reminded Jess of a bird.

Zoe has passed, and her passing reminds me that time moves forward, I am getting older, and things at the Oleander house, so much a part of me, will never remain the same; they are ALWAYS changing. There will be one day, unless I have the money to buy the home from my parents, that I'll have to leave the house that saw my childhood and womanhood, my tears, laughter and growth. Zoe was a reminder of the beginnings of my life in this house. She lies in the slope at the side of my kitchen door, buried with her comrades. This is not morbid, but a testament to the animals that I have loved and that have, and will remain, so much a part of my life.

Sleep well, sweet Zoe.