Last night we had to take Squit down to the Emergency Animal Clinic to ease him out of his existence. We knew this was going to happen. He’d been losing weight rapidly over the last couple of months, and the vets' thought earlier this month was that he had intestinal cancer. A couple of days ago he began to decline catastrophically. On Friday, he was able to at least move from one sunny spot to another, and even managed to navigate the back deck steps. But yesterday afternoon he could only take a step or two and then had to lie down. It was hard to see this very strong and very gentle cat fail so quickly. He was probably 16, a good old age for a cat. This morning we’ll take a couple of beers down to the kat sematary and plant him.

[Update, about 20:30 Sunday: and that is in fact what we did, and we had a fine burial. I didn’t go in to work tonight, either. Partly because my face was very definitely not in place, but also I didn’t want to alarm the snowflakes as I broke out in tears at intervals. Or maybe I did want to alarm them, but I didn’t really want to be around them. Or vice versa. Not sure which.]



I see I’ve actually written quite a few things about Squit over the last nearly eight years. He was a memorable cat, a dear cat, but let’s see what we had to say about him back then.

From December 2004: “Big Sweet Dumb Cat”

"Squit is part siamese and part tabby. He’s not the brightest bulb in the socket, and all you have to do to know this in your gut is to look into those crossed eyes and that gives it all away. He eats too much, probably from all the anxiety he feels when the other cats have their tiffs.

Squit (aka Squitty, Squeepee, other silly things) came to us several years ago a thin throwaway. He had been around for a couple of days when I followed behind him as he walked from north of the house to well south of it. He never knew I was behind him. That he was well-domesticated became obvious - we always felt his mind had been blasted somehow. Gradually he recovered and went through another kitten phase (difficult to deal with when the cat involved is probably three years old and rather large)."

(On Friday, I’d been watching and talking to him as he lay in the sun, down at the lower pond. Late afternoon, I picked him up and carried him back to the house. It was apparent that he probably wouldn’t be able to do that for himself. I realized that I had tracked the very same route in reverse that I had followed him on, when I first met him, thirteen or so years ago. But I think he had a good and comfortable day on Friday.)

From July, 2005: “Friday: Cat, Seal, or Slug?”

"How weird is Squit? Incredibly blue, crossed eyes. No hunting instinct. Butterflies land on his nose with impunity. Gets along with, no, actually seems to love everyone - all the other cats, although it must be said, most don’t like him. Hates contention. Will wander anxiously around crying if there is yelling going on, whether cat-cat, cat-human, or human-human. Probably brain-damaged, maybe by trauma before he found us. And probably the physically strongest cat I’ve ever seen."

And one more, from March, 2008. “Yesterday and Today:”

"The cats are viewing this warm weather as a time to be lazy, spending hours sleeping on the deck in the sun. This comes as a relief to them, for they have spent much time rationalizing cold weather as an excuse to spend hours napping on soft furniture in the comparatively warmer house. But that was yesterday, and today’s today."

Silly goofy cat. I’ll miss those eyes. They made me laugh every time we looked at each other.