Last Thursday evening, our kitty Morgan puked on the living room rug. Then he puked again. Then a third time. He had been given a special treat for the new year - tuna - and we thought that perhaps it didn't agree with his stomach.
But the next morning, he was walking around hunched over and would not eat. But he was drinking and peeing, so we kept an eye on him for the day. By Friday night, he hadn't improved, so we took him to the emergency room at Adobe Pet Hospital (a place I can recommend in a big way). They prodded him and took blood samples and told us that preliminary tests showed an infection. So they gave him some antibiotics and pain medication and we left with some more antibiotics to give him over the next week. And he seemed to get better. He stopped walking hunching over and started eating - but very little, which we were warned would be the case, due to the antibiotic's effect on the stomach. So we waited and he got a little better, but then he stopped getting better.
Jack took him back to the hospital on Tuesday and came back with the worst possible news: Morgan had, at best, a few days. The likeliest cause was lymphoma; his intestines were in horrible shape and had ruptured and his spleen was in even worse shape. They offered to euthanize him right then, but since Morgan was still alert and didn't appear to be in pain, Jack decided to let him show us when it was time, although he knew it would be a matter of a few days at best. So we spent that night and the next day with him, giving him laps whenever he wanted them and treats as much as he wanted to eat. He snuggled in my lap, looking up at me, blinking slowly and patting my face.
But this morning, he was in a lot of pain. He couldn't stay still. He stumbled around, not sure where he was. And we knew that this was the time. We took him to the hospital and held him, telling him what a good, loved kitty he was, while the vet injected him with two substances. And he went, very quickly.
I've had a number of pets over the course of my life, but he was special. Extraordinary, really. He had none of the aloofness that is typical in cats; he was an extremely snuggly, extremely affectionate lap kitty. At dinner, he would place a paw on Jack's leg or mine, to remind us that a certain kitty was nearby and required a lap when we were done eating. When we'd sit watching TV, usually holding hands, he'd reach over and place his paw over our hands.
He was very much a gentleman, very well-behaved, a gentle soul. Other people told us of how their cats swiped, clawed or bit, destroyed stuff or ran out of the house or fought with the other pets or visitors. We had no such stories. Morgan never really misbehaved, never destroyed anything, never ran outside (he did walk out on the porch once, then mewed softly and went back inside), and was always a good host. Friends would bring their dogs by, and, after touching noses, Morgan would treat them like any other visitor, which is to say politely and graciously.
And he learned how to do tricks. He would sit, shake, sit up and jump through a hoop on command (for treats, of course...) He was very patient when we'd put kitty-sized hats on him. As long as his beloved family was doing the asking, he was okay with it, because it was his family asking. He made it very apparent that his favourite place to be was with his family and as long as he could be with us, he was the happiest kitty in the world.
We were so privileged to have been the family of this extraordinary kitty.