Boss Radio

Misty died at around 9pm, internet time. About an hour later I was about ready to accept it.



Misty arrived here in a strange way, even by our standards. My sister told us of this girl who had a cat who hated her. She could tell from the way the cat looked at her, wouldn't let her pick her up, just sat there and looked at her with a look of utter dislike. Naturally we agreed to take her on.

She was certainly a bit stand-offish, but we didn't get any particular feelings of dislike, well, not towards us anyway. She wasn't too taken by our other cats though. In fact this turned out to be the reason for her slightly snooty behaviour. She wanted to be alone. Our other cats all passed away one by one, and eventually Misty was our sole companion.

At this point she became far more friendly, I even managed to persuade her that being picked up wasn't so bad after all, and I think she may even have come to enjoy it, although she was never about to admit that. She was, quite simply, a very contented cat who knew that it was her right to clamber onto any knee that was available whenever the desire took hold of her. Except when it was sunny.

She loved to lie in the sun. Sometimes she would disappear for hours, then one day we discovered that she was basically climbing up the wall of next door's house to get on to the roof and sunning herself from there. Then she'd walk along the roof onto ours and jump down onto our bicycle shed/lean-to, leaving us to wonder where she'd suddenly sprung from.

Unfortunately sun is not good for white cats, and we began to notice a reddening of her ears if she stayed out too long. One year the sunburn turned a bit crispy and we went to the local walk-in vet, who advised that we either kept her out of the sun during the mid day hours or put sun screen on her ears.

We tried with the sun screen, but firstly she hated having it put on, and secondly, she'd lick it off almost immediately. The following year the sunburn was so bad that she began scratching at it, making it bleed, and then scratching at the subsequent scar, making it worse so she scratched it even more. We went back to the vet. He said the only real solution was to cut the "bad bits" off, thereby giving the ears a fresh start. He did offer the alternative of a cone-collar and I preferred that option, so he gave me one and of course Misty nearly killed me when I tried to put it on (Although whilst it was on she was pretty stoical about it, just sulked a little). We decided to go with the surgery.

After that she was fine for a couple of years, then the reddening of the ears began again. We started locking the cat door to stop her going out in the sun, but she worked out how to unlock it. So I jammed it shut with a Calor Gas container, but she actually managed to shift that too. Sure enough, the crust came back and the scratching started again, so it's back to the vet. He offered a further trim of the ears, but I protested at this point that soon she'd have no ears left. Stupid of me really, I should have trusted his judgement, but I was thinking of Misty's vanity and he hadn't mentioned the C word at this point, so we settled for him cauterising the worst damaged ear.

The ear looked bad, but I figured it would improve over the winter, and indeed it did, but it was still a bit black and nasty looking, and the following summer it very quickly started annoying Misty and every time she pulled the scar off it got bigger. Meanwhile I'd bought some cream to sooth it, which was partially successful, in that she hating having it on, but once on it did relax her a bit.

Then one day she nearly shredded it, it looked terrible, and I suddenly realised that what she had might be skin-cancer. Naturally this made me terrified of going to the vet, but fortunately the neighbours noticed the ear as well and insisted that I take her. At this point mum suggested that we go to the big veterinary surgery in town rather than the little walk-in.

The vet there was pretty annoyed with me for leaving it this long, no amount of excuse making was going to change his opinion that the cat didn't look this bad two days ago, he said that he could tell that was a tumour from the other side of the room and the only kind thing to do now was to put her down. No chance of that. Misty certainly didn't want to die, and she was a very happy cat in no pain apart from the ear. Couldn't she have it removed?

He didn't want to perform the operation, putting a cat through that kind of trauma at her age is just wrong was his opinion. We should take advantage of the mercy that we're allowed to offer animals that humans can't get, and have her put down. However he did agree to do the op once he realised that the other option was that we'd simply walk out with her, and he even came in especially on his day off to perform the operation. She sailed through it. The vet did however make it quite plain that although he'd dug out all the tumour (He never did use the C word) he could find, the odds against it already having spread to her skull were not the kind of odds you want to bet on.

Misty was just glad to be home and continued living her life the way she always had, but three months later it became clear that there was something growing where her ear used to be, and she had a little bump on her head. We went back to the vet and he pointed out that he did say the tumour would be back, and there was now nothing to do but to put Misty down. We could decide for ourselves if it had been worth the expense for extending her life by about 13 weeks. We said yes it had been worth it and no again to the euthanasia. Misty was still a happy cat in no pain, and so began the last two months of her life.

He gave us Metacam for her and we took her back home. One day she got dizzy. I thought it was weakness, but then she tried to climb the wall again and gave an amazing leap, but wasn't able to control her direction and fell back. I carried her back in to the house and as she sat there happily purring on my lap I investigated her face. The eye on the tumour side was now working slowly and she was turning her head slightly so she could see what she was doing with her good eye. I guess the tumour was now pressing on the brain, yet she still showed no sign of pain (Probably because of the Metacam by this time).

Later it got harder to eat, yet still she insisted on trying, finding the food by trial and error since she couldn't look at it and eat it at the same time. Soon the only way she could eat was to dive into it with her face and scoop it into her mouth, which she did with a loud purr at the realisiation that she was still getting food.

We've had a lot of cats. Some decide it's time to die and give up, usually dying within a couple of days, some implore you to help them out, so you have no choice but to have them put to sleep, and some don't want to die. I think of all our cats Misty is the one that least wanted to die. The way she refused to accept her failing health and tried to get to her food or her litter tray was both sad and magnificent, and the way she continued to dive into her food almost made you think she might actually survive this thing. But of course, she didn't.

About a week ago I started taking her to sleep alongside my bed, up to this point she'd been sleeping in her favourite place on top of my old underwear, but I'd been awoken one morning by the sound of her trying to get down the steps and since then I'd decided that she needed to be where I could keep an eye on her.

This morning when I awoke she was sitting in the position, slightly hunched, that usually indicates that a cat isn't happy. I reached out to stroke her head and she fell onto her side and started purring happily. No pain purring, no panic purring, this was that relaxed pleasure purr, and she stretched her feet out and started grooming herself (I told you she was vain). Again I marvelled at her determination not to miss out on a single minute of life and after a while I took her downstairs and offered her some food. She didn't want it. That was a horrible moment. I gave her her Metacam in the hope that once that got to work maybe she would eat. Nope. Reluctantly I filled the syringe my sister had given me with the Carnivore Care that she had also given me, then I filled her bowl with one of the Nature's Menu sachets that she'd given me, and force fed her the Carnivore Care. I didn't intend it to be force feeding, but it sure felt like it. She took it, giving me a strange look, but she still couldn't dive into the bowl of food.

She spent the day on mum's lap with me occasionally trying to convince her to eat, but she just lay there, totally relaxed, occasionally trying to groom herself but being by now unable to reach her back legs. As evening drew on I asked if I could take her for a bit, just to give mum a rest, but as I put her onto my lap she suddenly burst into a panic purr and clawed at the air for a moment. I stroked her, I couldn't think of anything else to do, and slowly the purr turned back into one of pleasure and she relaxed, splaying herself across my knee with a contented sigh. I know cats can't smile, but she was lying in that position where the curvature of the mouth made it look like she was smiling.

I don't know how long it was, but I suddenly became aware that she'd done a tiny little pee. In the back of my mind I knew what that meant. It took me an hour before I could accept it.

Rest in peace, Misty. You deserve it after the fight you put up.