In Memoriam: Zowie

I know what you're thinking: "Wait. Didn't I just read about your cat dying?" Yes. Yes, you did.

Not long after we put Ally to sleep, Zowie started showing the same sure-fire signs of kidney failure. Zowie has never been so great about the kitty litter box to begin with, so it wasn't as clear at first as it was with Ally. Zowie, who has spent the majority of her life either hiding under our bed or pooping on it, was now peeing next to the litter box. That was different. And bad.

(That's Zowie, on the left)
Some interesting things have happened in the last six or so months since Zowie was diagnosed with kidney failure. To keep her comfortable, and us sane, we pretty much sequestered her in the basement laundry room when we weren't around, which earned her the nickname "Basement Cat." She didn't seem to mind this so much and, as we would pass through on our way in and out, she didn't shy away from our hands - even the boys, from whom she used to run at first sight. She became our furry speedbump: slowing us down as we ran here and there, but stopping to give her a scratch under the jowls.
Then, in the last couple months, when we've let her roam freely, she's started hanging out with us. If no one else was home but me and her, she'd follow me around, mewing a demand for attention. If I sat, she jumped on to my lap. Once, she bit me on the elbow as I sat at the desk typing because I wasn't paying attention to her. She welcomed the boys' love and affection, even letting Riley show her his over-cuddly ways with his chicken-neck hugs. It was a nice change to see some glimpses of my former Zowie in there, back when she'd do anything for a stroke of her fur.

But, as these things go, she took a turn for the worse about a week ago. She stopped using the litter box again, and she stopped eating. Another trip to the veterinarian a couple days ago confirmed what we already knew: it was time.

Last night, as matter-of-factly as possible, we told the boys, once again, that they need to say good-bye to their pet. Holden, well... he just lost it. With big sobs he wanted to know why she couldn't be fixed. He also wanted to know when we will be buying a new pet. Riley, his big bottom lip out, kept saying, "I'm sad for the kitty. I love the kitty." We spent some time together, the five of us, last night. We sat in a circle as Zowie, on her wobbly, weak legs, went back and forth between us, relishing her last pats, strokes, hugs and kisses.
We are glad she is in a better place - one free of menacing children, a sister who seemingly made her uncomfortable and no more pain. Riley is having trouble understanding still, asking if she'll "feel better in the morning." He keeps telling me, while flying his airplane around the living room: "Mama, I'm worried about the kitty. I want her to lick me."

It's weird to be cat-free for the first time in 14 years. Their meows, cat-hair tumbleweeds and middle of the night cuddles were a staple of my life for so long. Zowie and I may have had our differences, but I always loved her and give her props for fighting as long as she did. She showed us courage and love to the very end. Chin up, sweet kitty, for one last jowl stroke.