Wednesday 12 November 2014

Farewell to Toffee

A month ago we had to have our cat Toffee ‘put to sleep’.

Before you think ‘aaah, what a shame’ I have to be honest and say that there was some sense of relief.

She was hard to love.

Toffee had come to us ‘second-hand’ – but not ‘pre-loved’.
She carried the name ‘Viper’ and, on the day when the
New Testament reading happened to be about Saul/Paul’s Damascus Rd experience, we optimistically re-named her Toffee to reflect both her dark tabby markings and the hoped-for sweetness of personality! But that was not to be.

We did our best to love her:
we appreciated her  penchant for high places and vertical movement: she loved open drawers, the tops of doors, the thinnest branches on our big trees, the top peak of our two-storey roof, the highest ladder even when it was already precariously occupied by a certain fellow in his early 70’s who should have paid for scaffolding while he painted the gable;
we built a little ladder for her in the family room so she could reach the highest bookshelf and settle into her special sheepskin-lined basket ... occasionally;
we offered her special food which she ignored, favouring one variety of biscats day after day;
we protected her from angry mynah birds who screeched and swooped at her when she ran the gauntlet from the house to the garden and back;
we tried to keep our/her house free from other cats who raised her stress levels by coming inside, eating her food, even coming upstairs as if they owned the place;
we tried to ignore the flattened ears,  the competition for every seat in the house that I chose to occupy, the thrashing tail, the sudden sinking of teeth into tender skin, the scratches, the growling and the look that could kill.

When we got back from our walk that Sunday afternoon four weeks ago, we found her upstairs on her master’s chair: she could not weight bear and horrible yowls accompanied every movement. Off we went to the vet : she must have been hit by a car because oneback leg was badly broken, she was in pain and treatment dollars were heading to four figures ... and so, with a mixture of guilt and resignation we made the choice to free her – and ourselves.

When she and I were alone while the paperwork was done and the deadly drug prepared, there was a moment of pure peace, as if she knew she didn’t have to fight anyone anymore.
No longer risking tooth or claw, I gave her a little farewell kiss and sent her home.

Loving when you get little in return is not easy.

But God does it all the time.