Stripe
1986-2007
After a year or so in a local college, my son went off to school in SoCal, in the fall of 1986. Suffering from acute half-empty-nest syndrome, my wife and I immediately went out and got a new puppy and two kittens.
The dog was a Chow-Chow, Roxanne. The kittens, gray tabbies, both male, we got from a German woman we called Helga, the Cat Nazi, and my daughter named them Spot and Stripe.
Spot was the sweet kitty who loved to sit in your lap. Stripe would rather be outside on his own.
Not six months later, Spot got into one of the garbage cans and found some moldy pizza and that was the end of him.
Stripe became an inside/outside kitty once his brother was gone, a now-and-then lap-cat, but he liked to roam and do combat with the neighborhood toms, even though he had been neutered. Got his ears tattered and some raging infections, but ruled our yard against all comers. He liked to sleep in odd places. A couple of the more interesting ones were in a frying pan on the stove, and in the bathroom sink.
We never expected him to more than last twenty years. We thought sure he'd get run over or mauled, and yet somehow, he managed to keep going.
He was blind in one eye and slowing down. He liked the new puppy, they would rub noses and he would put up with her licking his face. But he had to be near a litter box the last year or so, or he'd just go wherever he was, we couldn't let him run loose in the house. We put a bed in the garage with a heater in front of it, and that's where he spent cold days; warmer ones, he laid on a heating pad in a deck chair in the front courtyard. Now and then, he'd sit on my lap watching TV. He slept a lot.
Saturday, Stripe's belly swelled up, and while he didn't seem in any great discomfort, his appetite was off, and there was obviously something wrong. The diagnosis was that he probably had a bowel tumor, certainly some kind of blockage, but without X-rays and a battery of diagnostic tests, it was hard to be sure, and he wasn't a good candidate for surgery in any event. The prognosis was, at best, not good. Things were not going to get better.
We thought about what would be the kindest thing to do. And so we had him put down, and his ashes will join those of Cady and Scout out front. (Spot's remains, I buried out back almost twenty years ago. Regular pet cemetary, our yard ...)
Been a sad year for animals in our family. My old dog Scout and my daughter's dog Howard went on the same day a few months back; now the old cat. But, Stripe had a good run, four months shy of twenty-one, which is pretty good for an outside/inside cat.
And the big wheel keeps on turning ...
The dog was a Chow-Chow, Roxanne. The kittens, gray tabbies, both male, we got from a German woman we called Helga, the Cat Nazi, and my daughter named them Spot and Stripe.
Spot was the sweet kitty who loved to sit in your lap. Stripe would rather be outside on his own.
Not six months later, Spot got into one of the garbage cans and found some moldy pizza and that was the end of him.
Stripe became an inside/outside kitty once his brother was gone, a now-and-then lap-cat, but he liked to roam and do combat with the neighborhood toms, even though he had been neutered. Got his ears tattered and some raging infections, but ruled our yard against all comers. He liked to sleep in odd places. A couple of the more interesting ones were in a frying pan on the stove, and in the bathroom sink.
We never expected him to more than last twenty years. We thought sure he'd get run over or mauled, and yet somehow, he managed to keep going.
He was blind in one eye and slowing down. He liked the new puppy, they would rub noses and he would put up with her licking his face. But he had to be near a litter box the last year or so, or he'd just go wherever he was, we couldn't let him run loose in the house. We put a bed in the garage with a heater in front of it, and that's where he spent cold days; warmer ones, he laid on a heating pad in a deck chair in the front courtyard. Now and then, he'd sit on my lap watching TV. He slept a lot.
Saturday, Stripe's belly swelled up, and while he didn't seem in any great discomfort, his appetite was off, and there was obviously something wrong. The diagnosis was that he probably had a bowel tumor, certainly some kind of blockage, but without X-rays and a battery of diagnostic tests, it was hard to be sure, and he wasn't a good candidate for surgery in any event. The prognosis was, at best, not good. Things were not going to get better.
We thought about what would be the kindest thing to do. And so we had him put down, and his ashes will join those of Cady and Scout out front. (Spot's remains, I buried out back almost twenty years ago. Regular pet cemetary, our yard ...)
Been a sad year for animals in our family. My old dog Scout and my daughter's dog Howard went on the same day a few months back; now the old cat. But, Stripe had a good run, four months shy of twenty-one, which is pretty good for an outside/inside cat.
And the big wheel keeps on turning ...
3 comments:
He's gone to mouse hell, where the rooms are unfurnished and the baseboards have fake mouseholes painted on them.
Okay, I can't take this. Bad enough Scout, now Stripe?
Another companion standing phantom watch over the Perry household.
Yeah, when I get to be in charge, I'm gonna do something about this death business. Another mistake, that's three -- mosquitoes, Teamsters, death ...
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