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- Jan 1, 2014
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Hi guys, first post on here and thought i'd share a story about my now late cat Molly who passed away two days ago. I wanted to write this not only because I think the story offers so much hope and happiness in the face of death but also because when the inevitable was about to happen, reading some of the past threads on here really warmed my heart and helped me prepare for the worst.
Molly was everything to me. She was 17 when she passed and I'm 27. I guess we grew up together, everything that I've experienced from secondary school to adulthood she was privy to. My first kiss, my first alcoholic drink, my first exam; everything that made me who I am today happened during her time with us.
Her death on Monday was no surprise but the speed in which she deteriorated over the last few months was the difficult part. I'm in my third year at University and generally come home once a month, my girlfriend who would visit but not as often found herself getting upset on Christmas Eve when she saw Molly for the first time since September. Even in that short space of time she noticed how frail she had got, how disheveled she was looking but I reminded her that she was still the same cat but in the autumn of her life, still the same character and still full of life.
On the morning of the 27th I woke up fairly early for work (I work at home during the holidays) and it was always the routine that I would open the door to go out and in she'd run, waking up the street with her insistent meowing and presumably stories of what she'd got up to during the night. Sometimes you'd dread her entrance, always brash, always very loud for that time of the morning and very often the next worst thing after the 6am wake up call. But that was Moll.
On this particular day something had happened to her, although from hearing her you wouldn't have noticed. You normally heard Molly about 10 seconds before you saw her, so it was normal to be waiting impatiently for her to make herself known and come running in just in time for you to run for the bus, or the taxi that was waiting.
This day she never came and even now I still can't piece together what happened. Whether it was partly to do with the lack of sleep I had, the fact that outside my back door there is very little lighting or whether my mind was trying to protect me by not offering the full picture, I saw Molly hanging over the fence with her leg caught, almost as if it was nailed against it. But that is as much and as little as I can remember.
As quick as I could I grabbed her off the fence, although I do recall having to pull something off to free her, and then took her into the house to wake my mum up. She didn't seem to be in any distress but when I put her on the floor to walk, her foot was completely twisted round and she collapsed to the ground everytime she attempted to walk on it. Not that it seemed to put her off attempting to get to her food.
We booked her in at the vets first thing when it opened, which was around an hour and a half after I found her. In which time she had made an almost full recovery and was walking, at first with difficulty, but eventually completely unaided. The vet said she was lucky to escape with any permanent damage and we left convinced she had just lost one of her nine lives.
What happened after that was upsetting, distressing but elegant and beautiful all at the same time. It was obvious whatever happened to Molly had shocked her and given her the excuse she needed to bow out gracefully. Whatever that was is and will always remain very much a mystery. My friend suggested maybe it was a stroke, or perhaps the frantic wind had blown her off her perch on top of the wheelie bin (which she knew was full of leftover turkey). Either way, her recovery was a false dawn.
I can vividly remember the moment which seemed to encapsulate the whole story and perhaps Molly's first glimpses into the afterlife. Sat on the carpet accompanying me watching the cricket, she lifted her leg and attempted to groom herself (something she had long since given up on). But she just left it hang in the air, and if it's possible for a human and a cat to think the same thing at the same time - that's what we did. That few seconds hesitation was Molly's resignation, She didn''t want to do this anymore and I knew it.
From that moment on she didn't want a fuss, she'd sit with her face planted in her water bowl and slept with her head under the table with only her back end showing. She was still mobile, there was physically nothing wrong with her. She still had her notorious appetite, cumberland sausage and roast chicken were the last things she ate.
On the last night we had in front of the tv, I cried as I cuddled her because I knew this was her bowing out. In fact I cried more in those last 2 or 3 days than I have since she passed.
The topic was brought up with my mum the next day, when should we take her in to the vets and have her put down. It was something my mum was still reluctant to do. Maybe she had eaten too much, maybe the christmas period had disorientated her or maybe she was still in shock from her accident. All we knew is that neither of us could face waking up to find her dead or suffering, particularly my mum, and as much as I dreaded the idea of ending her life for her, I felt a duty that I should be with her at the very end.
Molly had other ideas.
People will think I'm giving far too much credit to a specie of animal that are inherently independent and selfish in their very nature but I personally believe it to be the final act of selflessness of this amazing creature
When I came in that night she was drawing her last breath. She had thrown up multiple times, her breathing had got shorter and she was panting with her tongue sticking out, I knew the writing was on the wall and gave her a kiss on the head and told her I loved her for the last time. Then, somehow, she managed to find the energy to get up and toddle outside into the garden. My mum still in denial, and still thinking she was only sick, let her pass and into the night she went for the last time.
I knew she wasn't coming back and found solace in the fact that she wanted to spare my mother and I the trauma, and herself the indignity, of dying in our company.
We found her in the garden the next day, camouflaged under a small bush. She was a tortoiseshell colour, or a 'naughty tortie' as my friend would say. This was the seventh time I had been out to look for her, yet she managed to escape my eye every time previously. We went round all the neighbours, we called the local vets but I knew we'd find her eventually and when we did she would finally be at peace.
I read on these pages that cats often go off to die and have read accounts by many experts that cats, like other animals, do not sense death and in essence don't fear it either. I firmly believe that she left that night not wanting to be found alive, and as the proud girl she was wanted us to remember her as that eccentric, over-exhuberent, full of life character she had been for the last 17 years of her life.
One of my biggest fears was getting that call while I was at university saying Molly had passed having not been able to say my goodbyes. Whenever Mum rang unexpectedly or even just as a courtesy call I was convinced every phone call I answered would be that news. Having lost my dad at a young age, and my mum going been through cancer treatment I have a tendency to fear the worst at all times.
On Christmas Eve when my girlfriend came along to drop off the presents, she commented that Molly although looking very frail was overly affectionate and that she had been her best friend during that day, watching her wrap the last of the presents. On Christmas Day and Boxing Day, the growing number of my nieces and nephews (currently 5) came and went whilst Molly remained undeterred by their presence, something she had reluctantly grown to accept through age.
Call me daft and I'm not the remotest bit religious but I'm convinced this was her swansong, she knew her time was up and she wanted to make sure she told everybody before she went.
Many will read this skeptically but I truly believe Molly waited for me to come back from university, she waited until she'd seen the family and she waited until she was out of sight of my mum before she departed this life. And for that reason, every tear I shed is followed by many more smiles.
She was my everything and I miss her like mad. Next week we're going to scatter her ashes next to Dad, someone she loved dearly as much as she loved me. She always was a flirt.
God bless you beautiful girl x
And thankyou all for welcoming me to your forum!
Molly was everything to me. She was 17 when she passed and I'm 27. I guess we grew up together, everything that I've experienced from secondary school to adulthood she was privy to. My first kiss, my first alcoholic drink, my first exam; everything that made me who I am today happened during her time with us.
Her death on Monday was no surprise but the speed in which she deteriorated over the last few months was the difficult part. I'm in my third year at University and generally come home once a month, my girlfriend who would visit but not as often found herself getting upset on Christmas Eve when she saw Molly for the first time since September. Even in that short space of time she noticed how frail she had got, how disheveled she was looking but I reminded her that she was still the same cat but in the autumn of her life, still the same character and still full of life.
On the morning of the 27th I woke up fairly early for work (I work at home during the holidays) and it was always the routine that I would open the door to go out and in she'd run, waking up the street with her insistent meowing and presumably stories of what she'd got up to during the night. Sometimes you'd dread her entrance, always brash, always very loud for that time of the morning and very often the next worst thing after the 6am wake up call. But that was Moll.
On this particular day something had happened to her, although from hearing her you wouldn't have noticed. You normally heard Molly about 10 seconds before you saw her, so it was normal to be waiting impatiently for her to make herself known and come running in just in time for you to run for the bus, or the taxi that was waiting.
This day she never came and even now I still can't piece together what happened. Whether it was partly to do with the lack of sleep I had, the fact that outside my back door there is very little lighting or whether my mind was trying to protect me by not offering the full picture, I saw Molly hanging over the fence with her leg caught, almost as if it was nailed against it. But that is as much and as little as I can remember.
As quick as I could I grabbed her off the fence, although I do recall having to pull something off to free her, and then took her into the house to wake my mum up. She didn't seem to be in any distress but when I put her on the floor to walk, her foot was completely twisted round and she collapsed to the ground everytime she attempted to walk on it. Not that it seemed to put her off attempting to get to her food.
We booked her in at the vets first thing when it opened, which was around an hour and a half after I found her. In which time she had made an almost full recovery and was walking, at first with difficulty, but eventually completely unaided. The vet said she was lucky to escape with any permanent damage and we left convinced she had just lost one of her nine lives.
What happened after that was upsetting, distressing but elegant and beautiful all at the same time. It was obvious whatever happened to Molly had shocked her and given her the excuse she needed to bow out gracefully. Whatever that was is and will always remain very much a mystery. My friend suggested maybe it was a stroke, or perhaps the frantic wind had blown her off her perch on top of the wheelie bin (which she knew was full of leftover turkey). Either way, her recovery was a false dawn.
I can vividly remember the moment which seemed to encapsulate the whole story and perhaps Molly's first glimpses into the afterlife. Sat on the carpet accompanying me watching the cricket, she lifted her leg and attempted to groom herself (something she had long since given up on). But she just left it hang in the air, and if it's possible for a human and a cat to think the same thing at the same time - that's what we did. That few seconds hesitation was Molly's resignation, She didn''t want to do this anymore and I knew it.
From that moment on she didn't want a fuss, she'd sit with her face planted in her water bowl and slept with her head under the table with only her back end showing. She was still mobile, there was physically nothing wrong with her. She still had her notorious appetite, cumberland sausage and roast chicken were the last things she ate.
On the last night we had in front of the tv, I cried as I cuddled her because I knew this was her bowing out. In fact I cried more in those last 2 or 3 days than I have since she passed.
The topic was brought up with my mum the next day, when should we take her in to the vets and have her put down. It was something my mum was still reluctant to do. Maybe she had eaten too much, maybe the christmas period had disorientated her or maybe she was still in shock from her accident. All we knew is that neither of us could face waking up to find her dead or suffering, particularly my mum, and as much as I dreaded the idea of ending her life for her, I felt a duty that I should be with her at the very end.
Molly had other ideas.
People will think I'm giving far too much credit to a specie of animal that are inherently independent and selfish in their very nature but I personally believe it to be the final act of selflessness of this amazing creature
When I came in that night she was drawing her last breath. She had thrown up multiple times, her breathing had got shorter and she was panting with her tongue sticking out, I knew the writing was on the wall and gave her a kiss on the head and told her I loved her for the last time. Then, somehow, she managed to find the energy to get up and toddle outside into the garden. My mum still in denial, and still thinking she was only sick, let her pass and into the night she went for the last time.
I knew she wasn't coming back and found solace in the fact that she wanted to spare my mother and I the trauma, and herself the indignity, of dying in our company.
We found her in the garden the next day, camouflaged under a small bush. She was a tortoiseshell colour, or a 'naughty tortie' as my friend would say. This was the seventh time I had been out to look for her, yet she managed to escape my eye every time previously. We went round all the neighbours, we called the local vets but I knew we'd find her eventually and when we did she would finally be at peace.
I read on these pages that cats often go off to die and have read accounts by many experts that cats, like other animals, do not sense death and in essence don't fear it either. I firmly believe that she left that night not wanting to be found alive, and as the proud girl she was wanted us to remember her as that eccentric, over-exhuberent, full of life character she had been for the last 17 years of her life.
One of my biggest fears was getting that call while I was at university saying Molly had passed having not been able to say my goodbyes. Whenever Mum rang unexpectedly or even just as a courtesy call I was convinced every phone call I answered would be that news. Having lost my dad at a young age, and my mum going been through cancer treatment I have a tendency to fear the worst at all times.
On Christmas Eve when my girlfriend came along to drop off the presents, she commented that Molly although looking very frail was overly affectionate and that she had been her best friend during that day, watching her wrap the last of the presents. On Christmas Day and Boxing Day, the growing number of my nieces and nephews (currently 5) came and went whilst Molly remained undeterred by their presence, something she had reluctantly grown to accept through age.
Call me daft and I'm not the remotest bit religious but I'm convinced this was her swansong, she knew her time was up and she wanted to make sure she told everybody before she went.
Many will read this skeptically but I truly believe Molly waited for me to come back from university, she waited until she'd seen the family and she waited until she was out of sight of my mum before she departed this life. And for that reason, every tear I shed is followed by many more smiles.
She was my everything and I miss her like mad. Next week we're going to scatter her ashes next to Dad, someone she loved dearly as much as she loved me. She always was a flirt.
God bless you beautiful girl x
And thankyou all for welcoming me to your forum!
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