Nothing gold can stay

The Prednisone injector lies unused on the shelf above the sink as I fill a glass with water.

There's a clean, empty dish at the feeding area.

And our beloved cat, Grabby, lies still, wrapped in a blanket waiting to undertake the final leg of her journey. Soon she shall be going home.

Grabby died yesterday. She'd been doing poorly for the previous couple days. She was beset by lethargy, a lack of appetite. While she ate a little bit on Thursday, her dish went unused on Friday. Her home was the bed in the spare room but occasionally she'd wander about and spend a little time on the couch, a few minutes on my lap.

One time, as I was sitting on the couch next to our other cat, Piper, Grabby wandered out and stood before us. Piper, while not hissing or growling, made a noise I'd never heard her make before, an expression of discomfort and, perhaps, of warning. Looking back, I think she sensed death on Grabby.

I took her to the vet on Saturday morning. As I lugged the carrier to the car, she yelped in displeasure. The vet office was busy and I sat for a couple hours in the waiting room with Grabby in the carrier next to me sleeping. She would stir occasionally and turn her head in the other direction but that was about it. An assistant said that there were 4 patients ahead of her so I left Grabby in her care while I went home for a little while. In my haste, I had forgotten my phone there and figured Grabby was just going to sleep anyway. My Frau was out of town and had tasked me with a few chores so I got those done before grabbing my phone and heading back to the vet.

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We got Grabby in 2009, I think, not long after my Frau and I moved in together. She wanted a cat, the landlord OK'd it, and, after seeing this photo, it was love at first sight.

Grabby was a stray and no one was sure how old she was but the best estimate was about 2 years.

She quickly endeared herself to us and lodged herself into our hearts. She adjusted to the new digs, finding places to relax and nap everywhere. Bags and boxes were favorites.

Although she came to us as Marilyn, she earned her nickname after we discovered that, when petted, she would often grab our hands with her front paws - and kick them with her back ones. One day she became Grabby and those hind legs were deemed pushers.

Her fur was the softest I'd ever petted on a cat. As she got older it got longer, including a lovely, regal ruff. That extra fur necessitated extra grooming.

A few years later, my Frau decided that she wanted a second cat and Piper came into our life. When the carrier with the 2 month-old kitten arrived, Grabby was quite curious. 

"Hey! What do you got in there?!"

Standoffish at first, Grabby's motherly instincts kicked in and she groomed Piper and the pair would cuddle together frequently whether it be on a chair out on the front porch or in the perennial favorite, the box.

Grabby loved to eat. We never understood how she remained so small, so thin considering that she would nearly eat us out of house and home nearly every meal. If we were preparing a human meal in the kitchen, she would beg even though she had just eaten a whole can of wet food. No unattended plate was safe from her ravenous appetite. One day I was making lasagna and had decided to make it simple and just buy a bag of pre-shredded mozzarella. I stepped away for just a minute and returned to find Grabby's head stuck in the cheese bag. A Wisconsin cat through and through.

When we'd go out of town, a friend would feed the cats and Grabby would always be in the window with a very surly look on her face when our friend approached the house, as if she'd hadn't eaten in days.

"You're 20 seconds late!"

A bit more than a couple years ago, Grabby was diagnosed with lymphoma in her gut. However, a daily regimen of Prednisone put the spring back in her step. She continued eating twice her weight in food every meal and remained a spry mouser.

But she was getting up in years. Bouts of diarrhea and vomiting would come and go and then come again, but more frequently. She slowly lost weight and became quite thin, probably gaunt, if it wasn't for all that fur. A couple weeks or so ago, her eye swelled shut and needed antibiotics to get right again.

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I checked in at the vet upon my return and took my seat in the waiting room where I waited for a while before a vet assistant called me into an exam room and said the doctor would be with me shortly to discuss Grabby.

A minute or so later, the doctor came in holding a pink towel. "I have bad news," she said. "Marilyn passed away as I was beginning to examine her. She passed away quietly."

Tears came uncontrollably. I looked at her little face, eyes closed. Her mouth quivered and a little part of my brain yelled "She's still alive!" But those were just that some stray neurons not going quietly into that long winter's night.

I had her put into her carrier and solemnly drove home.

Piper must have sensed something was amiss as she fled upstairs and stayed there for a while rather than enjoying her favorite plush cat house.

My Frau was out of town so I let Grabby lie in repose in the carrier until her return today.

When I woke up this morning and walked through the kitchen, Piper ran to the stairs that led up. She sat on one and looked at me and made a raspy, abbreviated call. I think she knows that her big sister is gone.

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I take a little solace in that Grabby passed away quietly. We had a wee bit more than 2 years of her company, her antics, and her cuddles after that dreadful lymphoma diagnosis. I am grateful for that and consider ourselves quite lucky.

But, alas, nothing gold can stay.