The Lion in Winter: Our Last Days With Otis T. Cat

Our first pet ages out on us. You’d think it would be easy, with us being all old and mature and stuff. Of course, some people drop their elderly pets at the shelter to die alone and confused in a cage, or leave them alone with a veterinarian and a needle. Don’t get me started. This is one cat’s story, and we’re doing the best we can.

I can’t remember the last time I heard him meow. Otis was a very vocal cat throughout his life. He’s still with us after nearly 18 years, but the cat that once double-meow barked at me when he wanted attention hasn’t made a sound in long, long while.

I never thought I’d say this because it used to get on my nerves, but I miss his voice.

It was towards the end of the first week of September that Otis started leaving minor ponds of pee beside the litter boxes in the mud room. We hoped it was something he would get over, but the changes were already in motion over the last year or so. I’d already been carrying him up and down the stairs, given how painful it seemed to be for him.

He’s come up the stairs only once since then, and that was when he was hungry and looking for someone to feed him. He goes on memory, hearing, and smell, in shifting order. As near as we can tell Otis’ eyesight is all but gone. He can see movement, but individual shapes escape him.

Otis had already been with us nine months by the time of his first Christmas with us. Note the ancient CRT monitor he’s napping on.

Given his incontinence, his days of sleeping with us were over. I imagine this has to be the worst for him. Since the day Otis came home with us from the Anchorage Animal Shelter in April 2002 he’s spent the night with someone. 

As of September 2019, that was over. Otis was a downstairs-only kitty. He began with a special spot we made for him in a chair in the laundry room. Sometime between Halloween and Thanksgiving my wife bought a foam rubber bed to rest his bones in he stays close to the mud room where the litter boxes are. He’s becoming more and more incontinent by the day. Sometimes he hits the puppy-training pads we lay out for him. 

At least his incontinence is confined to an area designed to take a wet mess. For the most part. We expect this to change.

Dawson Creek, British Columbia, 5 October 2003, on our way to our next duty station in Washington state. For perspective, the little girl in the van with Otis turns 27 this year. All the children in this photo are long-since grown adults. And Otis....

When Otis didn’t even sleep with Emily on the air mattress this Christmas I knew it was his last Christmas with us. Now, I’m not sure he’ll see the spring. My wife and I have agreed that the day we find Otis sleeping in his own filth in his bed will be when we’ll medically assist him over that Rainbow Bridge.

Eighteen years is a long time for a cat to live. It’s a long time in ours, too. After Otis, we have four more cats to go. My wife and I can only hope we survive, and with enough vim and vigor to take care of them in the sunset of their lives. Mickey is 11 years old. Jack and Puff will turn nine this year. When Otis is gone we’ll have a few years of business as usual, and then one of them will take ill. Then another. Our youngest, Luna, is four. My wife and I will be in our 70s when she’s Otis’ age. Let’s hope we make it.

Otis in his foam bed where he spends nearly the entirety of his days. With his bones so fragile, his hygiene not so optimal, we have to brace ourselves to pick him up. He purrs when paid attention thus, but cats also purr when they’re in pain. We do what we can to let him know we still love him, though. Again, I imagine the loneliness of these final days has to be the worst for this once most-social of cats.

When you bring a pet into your family, you’re not just giving them a place to live. You’re giving them a place to die. Here’s to those out there doing what they can for those who should very much count as members of the family. Otis came into our family when our children were small. He’s been with us from Alaska, to Washington state, to Virginia, from Colorado’s Front Range to what will be his final resting place in the San Luis Valley.

Attention will be paid.

From that same journey in 2003. Otis actually enjoyed the long road trips.