Any Color You Like so Long as it's Black

1991-2008

BlackJacque is one of our two cats. Last week, he started getting very sick, and had a great deal of trouble moving, especially in his hips. I really noticed it when he jumped from the bed to the floor. He landed fine with his front paws, but as soon as the rear ones hit the floor, he fell over.

He got up, and walked into the kitchen with a limp.

The next morning he could barely walk. We got him to the vet. I waited while they did X-rays, took blood and urine samples and ran other tests.

Part of the problems were severe constipation, and arthritis. However, neither of them were the real problems. Blood tests confirmed he had diabetes. He was also facing kidney problems.

Because of his age, and condition, the vet couldn't make any promises about what he could do for BlackJacque.

He was in overnight, then a second night. Finally, Sunday we were able to go an pick him up.

After spending nearly an hour with the vet, we were shown how to administer a saline IV that he would require twice a week, along with twice daily insulin injections after meals, and a new special diet. BJ was already on a special diet for urinary crystal problems he had had nearly 10 years ago.

One other complication is that the diet for kidney failure is nearly the opposite of that for diabetes. A further complication was that because of the kidney problems, pain medication was out of the question.

We brought him home from the vet, open the carrier and he sprang out... or tried to. He managed 5 steps before falling down. His hips were still giving him problems, and his front right paw was painful to walk on - it was sore from where an IV needle had been. I picked him and hugged him. He leaned forward, bonking my chin with his forehead like he always did when he was picked up.

I sat down on the couch with him, then he decided he want to get up and look around at the home he'd been gone from for two days - the longest he's ever been away from our home in 17 years. He'd walk a few steps, stumble then fall, get up, and walk some more. He was a curious cat, and wanted to see if anything was new or different after being away, I think.

After he checked out the bedroom and kitchen, he came back through the dining room to the living room and looked at his chair. We've got a nice black leather lazyboy type chair, and it's his favorite place to lie down. He struggled to climb into the chair, but couldn't manage it. I picked him up off the floor and lay him down in his chair and watched him yawn and go to sleep.

That night, and the next three nights, I stayed up late with him every night to keep him company.

I've been lucky there was little work this week, so I could spend most of my time with him, staying up until most of the night., and getting up again at 6:00 to keep him company all week. He either spent his time on my lap, my wife's lap or sleeping in a chair beside me, or on a blanket on the couch.

His front paw got stronger at first, but then it all started to fall apart.

Tuesday, his appetite was up and down. Sometimes he'd eat a lot, other times he'd wouldn't touch the food in his dish. He got to the point where he couldn't walk anymore, and it was a struggle to even sit up.

After he'd finally eaten late in the morning, Tuesday, I gave him his first insulin shot of the day. About an hour later, he had a reaction to insulin, going into hypoglycemic shock. I was able to pry his jaws open and get some moist food in his mouth that stopped it quickly, but it was horrifying. I don't know what it feels like, but it looked like a charley horse hitting the entire body. I'm grateful my wife wasn't there to see it.

Tuesday night, he was unable to even sit up. I'd help him, move his hind legs for him and adjust his front paws so he could rest on his stomach, like you see in the top picture. I'd keep moist cat food close at hand in his dish, and a another dish of water ready as well.

He'd try to get up when he had to use the litter box, he just didn't have the strength. I'd pick him up, take him to the new litter box I made with low sides so he wouldn't have trouble climbing into it, and hold him while he did his business.

Unfortunately, because he had little control over his hind legs, and couldn't stand like he'd used to, he often got wet, so afterwards, I'd take him to a sink and wash him... if you have ever tried to bath a cat you know how much they hate it. Afterwards I'd towel him dry as best I could. I'd put him in my lap, then finish with a hair dryer on a low setting, brushing his fur with one hand while drying him with the other.


Last night we took BlackJacque to the vet to end his suffering.


I hated the thought of having to do that. Every time we started trying to talk about it, my wife and I would start crying and hugging BJ. Neither of us was ready to let him go, but I know he was.

The clincher was when we had to bathe him after helping him in the litterbox around noon on Wednesday. As soon as he sees water, much less actually into it he always starts struggling. The last time he didn't even move, just let out a weak meow when we put his lower half in the water, and lay his front paws and chin on the edge of the sink.

We carefully dried him off with towels and a hair dryer, sitting with him on the deck in the sun for a few more hours, trading him from lap to lap, rubbing and petting him, before calling the vet.

We fed him from his dish again, gave him some more water. I picked him up and we left home for the last time. I couldn't bear the though of him spending his last hour in a cat carrier, and the walk home was going to be bad enough without having to carry a painfully empty cat carrier too.


My wife and I carried him for the 3 mile walk to the vet. Every once in a while, we'd stop to rest, lay BJ on the grass in the sun, rub his belly and scratch his ears and talk to him. He'd been an indoor cat all his life, and was getting to see a part of the world he'd never been to before. We finally arrived at the vet.

We stayed with him to the end, holding him until it was all over.

The walk home was even longer... when we got in, we saw his kibble dish, with food still in it on the counter, and started crying again. I picked up his dish, washed and dried it. It sits in our glass fronted china cabinet now. For me, it's more valuable than all the fine china we have.

Everywhere I look, I keep expecting to see him, lying on his chair or the couch, running to the kitchen at the rattle of kibble...dammit, even this afternoon while I was sitting in a chair on the deck where we spent most of our time, I even reached out to pet him... but he's gone.



We adopted BlackJacque and Corona in the spring of '91. At the time, my wife wanted to get a kitten. She's always been a cat person. Me, I've always been a dog lover, having had two great dogs, Hobo, a German Shepherd, and Flame, a red Doberman Pinscher Both were fabuous dogs. However, apartments are no place to keep a large dog, and I can't stand yappy little purse dogs that seem to be all the rage as a fashion accessory for celebutards these days.

She really wanted a kitten. I like cats, but I'm not cat person. But, if she wanted a cat, we'd get one. For her.

So I went with her to the pound where she'd pick one out. As we looked around the cages, she found Corona, a cute little tabby. Right above Corona's cage was BlackJacque, a tiny bundle of black fur with huge golden eyes. He looked at me, meowed in a tiny little voice and rubbed up against the cage. I stuck my finger in the cage, and he nuzzled it and started purring. I think he adopted me, not the other way around.

As we took them out of their cages, I noticed a card. It had two dates. One was a month earlier. The other was the next day. Curious I asked about it. The staff member coughed, then mumbled something. I didn't hear, so I asked her to repeat it. She explained they can only keep animals for 30 days. If they're not adopted by then, they're put down. The first date was when Corona and BlackJacque were brought in. The second date, as you've guessed, was an expiration date. Figuratively, and literally.

BJ had a loud purr, one that got louder as he got older and bigger. When he was fully grown, his purr was a loud rumble. When he was content and purring from a belly rub, you could hear him from 25 feet away. He was also the most affectionate cat I've ever known, and loved to be picked up. If you started to bend down, he'd stand up, front paws outstretched, ready to be scooped up in your arms.

He was incredibly playful. He loved string, shoelaces, laser lights, and anything that moved under the bedcovers. If you ran your hands under the comforter, he chased it back and forth until he finally got it, wrapping his paws around it and chomping down with his teeth. Of course, when you were sleeping at night, if he was awake and lying at the bottom of the bed and your feet moved under the blanket, he always managed to find your big toe to chomp on.

He also had a bag fetish. He loved bags, plastic and paper, through he preferred paper. He'd play with an empty bag, wresting with it, jumping on it, and rolling around on the floor with it. One of my favorite memories is when we got back from grocery shopping, and had an empty paper bag still sitting on the dining room table. He saw it from the floor, ran across the livingroom , hopping from chair to table and virtually flying at the paper bag that lay open on its side. He charged across the table, into the bag.... and both ended up flying off the table onto the floor. He climbed out of the bag, giving it a dirty look that said, "Hey! You tricked me!", then pounced on it again.

His favorite place to be was on anyone's lap. Some people are couch potatoes, BlackJacque was a lap-potato. If you were reading, or watching a movie, he'd hop up, settle in, rest his chin on his paws and go to sleep. If you moved at all, he'd turn around and give you his "I'm trying to rest!" look.

It's been 30 hours since he's gone, and it feels like an eternity. I miss the hell out of him.


On my desk...



And enjoying the fresh air on the deck.