Tom and I put our cat Bags to sleep on Friday. He was 18 years old.
Tom adopted Bags with another cat, Fats, around August of 1993. Working at a pet store at the time, a man came in with the two cats, saying he had to move and he was going to abandon them. Tom, being the compassionate person that he is, took them in. Both cats were about 6 years old at the time -- an age that we're guessing at since the previous owner never said how old the cats were. While Fats was the gregarious sort, Bags was more quiet. Fats would walk into a room, meowing, demanding attention. Bags would come into a room, hang out for a bit, then stroll right into your lap and lay down. Bags was generally a shy cat, but always very loving.
When Tom and I first starting seeing each other in December of 1993, the bulk of my cat-love attention went to Fats. Fats demanded it. Every time Tom and I would go into his room to hang out, you could clock the time when Fats would smack the door open with his paw and jump onto the bed to see what we were doing. Obviously, since I was dealing with one jealous kitty, I would spend my time petting Fats. Bags would just hang out. I joked for a long time that Bags was far more of the etheral cat -- the yin to Fats' yang.
Tom and I moved into together in April of 1996, and of course, the cats came moved in as well. Having grown up with a cat and a succession of Irish Wolfhounds, I always loved having animals around. Bags would always be somewhat attentive but rather detached as well. With Fats hogging the attention in the room, Bags just stayed back.
We moved out to Los Angeles in April of 1999, lugging the cats with us. Fats and Bags really didn't enjoy the trek, especially the one day they were stuck in their carrying case for a ful 24 hours when we ran out of gas (the move out here deserves another entry for another time).
We were in our second apartment in Los Angeles (specifically in one of the crappiest sections of North Hollywood) when Fats became ill. As with most tabbies, he had some eye issues that would come and go. But, one day, we noticed he had a bump in stomach. X-rays revealed it to be a tumor. Since we were both broke at the time, we couldn't really afford to do much with him. The tumor began to liquify and cause his stomach to expand out. He couldn't lay down, except on a pillow. He couldn't jump. He could just sit. Bags and Fats would often have little fights and then little make up sessions where they would clean each other. It was very cute. When we returned from one trip to the vet, we brought Fats out of his carrying case. Bags walked right up to him, and started cleaning Fats. I will always remember that.
So, a few days later, we had to put Fats to sleep. It was very difficult, but the right decision to make. Bags spent the next few days meowing around our apartment, trying to find Fats. We all adjusted to having Fats gone.
In the fall of 2000, we moved into our current apartment. This was the first place we lived in that Bags had free reign all by himself. By being the only cat, Bags' personality truly came out. He was very affectionate with us, sometimes aggressively so. There were several times when Tom would be woken up with Bags laying on his chest, licking Tom's nose. Bags would love to sleep with us, frequently either on our chests or between my ankles. He went through a variety of routines during his day. Sometimes he would have to be in the window around 8:30 in the morning to catch a sunbeam. Or we would see him as a lump under the blanket in the morning as we were getting ready to go to work.
Bags was never a mean cat to humans. He loved people. Other cats? That's another story. Bags obviously loved Fats, but was fiercely territorial when it came to other felines. Before we moved in together, Tom briefly lived with two other roommates, one of which had a kitten. Tom thought that since Fats was the dominant of his two cats that Fats would be the one with the problem with the kitten there. Nuh-uh. Bags would attack the kitten, letting her know that she was not welcome. So, the kitten would just stay in her owner's room, scared to come out. His attitude towards the strays that live around our building mostly echo this as well.
About a year and a half ago, Bags started to become constipated and started to lose weight. We would occasionally find rock-hard cat turds in the hallway of our apartment. (And yes, I cleaned up after those, thank you.) A trip to one vet told us that he was becoming rather dehydrated. But since the vet had the beside manner of a gattling gun and the hours of PBS special, Tom and I decided to go elsewhere. During our brief stint of living in Burbank, I remembered seeing a vet that specialized in cats. So, off we went. The doctor and his staff, while a bit more expensive, were just what we needed. The vet diagnosed that Bags had advanced renal failure, which is commonn for a cat of Bags' age. We gave him a syrup twice a day to lubricate his system and also eventually switched him over to a prescription cat food. But the fact of the matter is, once a cat's kidneys start to go, they never come back, so in the back of our minds, we knew that his days were numbered.
While Bags lost half of his total weight, he was still Bags. He still would go exploring around the apartment. He would jump into windows. He would trying to drink water out of any and every cup or glass of water that he could get to. He would meow and meow at us if we've been out for a long time. He'd still crawl into our laps every chance he could.
Then, last Wednesday, Bags stopped eating. Now, he's always been a picky eater, but this time around, he just stopped. His favorite food is tuna, so I put that out for him as well. With the kidney disease, his body can't process the high-protein makeup of tuna, so we normally wouldn't give it to him. Bags wouldn't eat the tuna. He'd walk for about a foot or so, and then lay down to rest. Quite often before this, Bags would have days in which he wouldn't eat, and then the next day he'd be fine. So, we decided to let this go for a day, and see what happens. Thursday rolled around, and he still hadn't eaten anything. We made an appointment with the vet, and Tom brought Bags in Friday morning as I had an audition for Quirky Network Drama that morning all the way down in Manhattan Beach. Tom and I had discussed that this could be it, but I called to check in on Bags around 3ish to see how he was doing. Normally when I would call the vet to check on Bags, the nurse would field the call. This time? I was connected straight to the vet, and he said that Bags wasn't doing well at all, and we should think about euthanasia. After calling Tom, we agreed to meet with the vet at 5:30.
The vet showed us the bloodwork, pointing out how Bags had 1.5% of kidney function left, and due to the high urea levels in his blood, his veins were starting to collapse. "You could spend about $3000 to get his veins back to where they were," the vet said, "but the fact of the fact of the matter is the cat's kidneys are almost gone." We discussed the options, and decided on putting Bags to sleep. At that point, my near-constant misty eyes turned into a full crying spigot. I just started bawling. The doctor prepped his paperwork as Tom and I took turns holding Bags in our laps. Even with him being in the condition he was in, Bags still wanted to be in our laps.
So, the vet came in, and gave him the anesthetic. It took a good 7 minutes for Bags to completely fall asleep. And then, the other injection, and off to sleep he went. The vet and his staff were so wonderful during all this. And Tom and I were just bawling messes.
Mitch and Shane got us flowers and a card. John and Marcella also got us cards. That Friday night, Drunk?Yes! came over with Guiness as Tom and I ordered pizzas. I was one piece shy from inhaling an entire medium sized sausage-and-pepperoni. We talked about Bags, and then just hung out for a while.
Every now and then, I'll look around the apartment, hoping to see him. Sometimes I think I catch a sight of him, peering in from the other room. All I know is that Bags is in a better place, and he's sitting in some sunbeam right now, eating tuna, and thinking about taking a nap in someone's lap.
I miss you, Bags.
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