Frisky at 140

01 Aug Frisky at 140

If one is supposed to account cat years by multiples of seven to compare feline age to that of  a human, our cat Teapot is around one hundred forty years old.  Most of that time she has spent outdoors stalking and hunting stuff.   She was a proficient hunter in her prime having  slain (and brought to our doorstep) any manner of smaller-than-her mammals, by this I mean babies.  A hatchling duck, a newish possum, lots of songbirds and many, many rats.  Lots of rats.  There may have even been a few a day occasionally.  I’d scoop up a murder victim in a morning only to scoop yet another in an afternoon.  She was good, if by good you’ll accept a definition that includes a four legged, furry psychopath.  Anyway, she was prodigious in that way, but not lately.

Not long ago we thought her end was near.  She looked like how she smelled, not quite right.  She drooled a lot and had ceased her bathing regime.  Nancy took her for a last-rites style visit to the vet, the kids each had their moments of good-bye and thanks for the memories, but the vet said teapot had plenty of life left in her.  The vet removed an apricot-sized hairball and put her on some thyroid pills.  That fixed her.  She went back to normal which consisted of sleeping in various windowsills, patio chairs and occasionally on the ridge atop the roof of our house.

Nancy went on a short trip and among the many items on her list of chores that I overlooked was the pill-administration to the cat.  Without the pills the cat got spunky!  She went back to prowling the garden in the early evenings and alerted me with pride-filled mewings to a freshly caught long tailed, pink-eared, pointy-snout rat, the first one I have seen her with this year.  I’m almost proud.  Actually, if it came from our house, make that darn proud!  Good for you, teapot.  May you catch many more- but leave the songbirds alone.