Bonnie

If your cat is chewing cardboard and licking the walls inside the house, take her to the vet immediately. I didn't understand these warning signs until they had been going on for weeks. Then one Saturday, my husband said, "Bonnie is licking the concrete on the front porch." I did some research and saw two possible causes-- anemia or kidney problems. I took Bonnie to the doctor the next day. Her blood work came back with some alarming numbers. She was severely anemic and her immunoglobulins were high. The doctor laid out the possible scenarios, which were vague, and plans for further testing.

With all of the cats in our family, we have been very clear with the doctors that we are willing to go so far with testing and treatments. It's not just about money. It's about suffering. So first of all, with Jeff, the yeast tumor in his ear could be removed and he would just have hearing in one ear. His enlarged heart could be treated with medications. It was expensive but reasonable. With Lily, her heart failure could be ameliorated with medications. She had an inhaler for her lungs. With Rosie, we injected subcutaneous fluids and gave her medications. Frida had surgery for uveal ulcers. But when a milky fluid was collecting in her body that could not be explained, we just took X-rays and kept her comfortable. She was eighteen years old. She lived to nineteen.

For Bonnie, we followed the doctor's advice to take her to a specialty clinic for further testing. The most expensive test was first-- an ultrasound to look for tumors. No tumors. More blood work. I took a day off work for this. As always, I explained to the doctor at the outset that we would go so far but no further. No biopsy. No bone marrow scrapes. No chemotherapy. She was unsympathetic, even sarcastic at times. It was a bad day. We tried some medications as a last ditch effort. One more blood test.

The second doctor at the specialty clinic was much more understanding of our wish not to go all out even though Bonnie was only five years old. She said there were no good outcomes for her. "She is not suffering right now. Just weak." She implied (my husband caught this, I didn't) that she could euthanize her for us right away. I decided to take her home, spend the weekend with her, and have our doctor come to the house to put her to sleep on Monday.

Bonnie knew after the first trip to the specialty clinic. She refused to eat pill pockets, which she had always loved in the past. I shredded my fingers trying to get the pills in her. Then I stopped. It was exhausting and stressful for her. She was still enjoying her food, just unable to eat much because she was so weak.

So we spent the weekend snuggling with her. We kept all the cats in so she would not try to disappear to die. I went to work Monday knowing we would put her to sleep as soon as I got home.

Our doctor is gentle and takes her time. The tech had fostered Bonnie and her kittens three years before. We were all in tears. Bonnie was scrappy. Her veins were collapsing because of the anemia and the big needle hurt. They gave her a sedative and waited.

Only three years. The shortest time we have ever had with a cat in our family. She was so different. Bonnie was the only cat we have ever brought into our family who had been a mother. Bonnie's kittens were adopted before we met her. Not only did she get her own three kittens to safety at the clinic, but also, our doctor told us, Bonnie had nursed several kittens who were rescued one at a time. "She saved a lot of little lives, and then you saved hers," the doctor wrote to us later.

Bonnie ran everywhere and caught lizards easily. She had a funny gait, as if her hips were going to get ahead of her. We joked that she looked like a Boston terrier and ran like one too. When she would say "Ek!" to the other cats, it sounded more like a bark than a mew.

Every meal time with Daisy was circle and slap, circle and slap while I prepared the plates. In many ways, Bonnie was such a good girl. She knew not to raid the other cats' plates until I said it was okay. Every morning she greeted me from the bedside table by nuzzling my hand. But she would never stop slapping Daisy at meal time. Daisy wanted to be friends, but Bonnie wanted to be rivals. Daisy's not a door mat so she slapped Bonnie back.

Daisy had seen Frida put to sleep three years ago. She didn't come near until the doctor left. She jumped when she realized Frida was gone. This time, when she saw what was happening, she was very animated. She marked the medical kit and tail-wrapped the table, the doctor, and the tech. She was dancing on Bonnie's grave. No more slapping and being slapped.

In the days to follow, I could tell everyone missed Bonnie. She was playful with the boys. But no one missed the slapping. Daisy could let down her guard a bit. But I took it harder than I thought I would.