I'm a cat killer. Not on purpose, but give me a cat and I can guarantee you it'll be dead either immediately or within a few years.
Cat #1: Oscar.
I got Oscar in college - a Himalayan - super cute and friendly. Thinking I'd save myself a little cash, a vet tech friend of mine said he'd neuter Oscar in my bathroom for free. Normally I'd say no to an offer like this - what the hell, is he crazy!? But I spent a lot of money on the cat so saving on the ball tying would be great. He came over. Shot Oscar up with Special K. Oscar ran all over the place, bumping into stuff, a wild look in his diluted pupils. Then, he just dropped dead. But he wasn't dead - yet. Just heavily sedated and primed for cutting. My friend shaved 'the area,' and everything was over in just a few minutes. Oscar eventually woke up and I thought everything would be fine.
The next day I thought my bed was on fire, but it was Oscar's hot, feverish body pressed up against me. He didn't look good at all. So much for saving a few bucks. I drove him to the vet who damn near took the cat away from me because of my 'poor decision making.' And of course I spent way more fixing Oscar than fixing him properly in the first place.
Oscar stuck around for a while - he was about 6 when he got nailed with this horrifying intestinal/stomach/colon problem. I'm a firm believer that you don't spend thousands of dollars prolonging a miserable animal's life. There are too many others out there that need saving. Since this was my first experience with euthanasia, I took Oscar into the vet, plopped him on the counter, told the receptionist who I was and what I was there for, and then ran out in tears of hysteria.
Cat #2: Sophie.
If you read The Rapist, then you know about Sophie already. My gray and white life saver. She was around 3 years old when I adopted her from the rich lady and hung out with me for about 6 years. She got struck with liver disease, and I'm not kidding when I say she turned yellow. She did. It was awful. And I was devastated. This time, a friend came with me and we sat with her until all the breath was done blowing out her sweet little face.
Cat #3: Beaker & Cat #4: Grendle.
I decided to give the SPCA a shot cuz I can't stand those animals being stuck there and killed every few minutes. They sent me to a foster home that had a pair of orange tabbies for adoption. They were really cute. Grendle was shy but Beaker seemed affectionate so I took them home. Grendle was dead within a few days and I was down more than $800. Somehow no one knew that he was dying of liver failure when they handed him over to me. Thanks a lot.
Beaker immediately developed an ear infection, which I thought would be no big deal to cure. Wrong. Nearly $2000 and 6 months later I was still watching him walk around the house with his head cocked off to the side, unable to balance himself. Eventually, in tears, I took him back to the SPCA, and you know what the guy at the desk said to me?
"So, you just don't want him anymore? Is that the reason you brought him back here?"
I was so livid my friend had to hold me back from punching him square between the eyes. Bastard.
Cat #5: Merlin & Cat #6: Regan.
A couple of my parents friends were going to build a new house and move to Ireland for a year, so their 2 Maine Coons needed a new home. I went to see them and was sold. Regan was a tortoiseshell poof ball and Merlie a 30 pound beast the color of a Creamsicle. I had to muscle up to get that bad boy in the car. I felt like I was really doing a good deed, though, because Merlin's name had been something like Prince William Wordsworth Wilmington III or something crazy. He does have a regal look about him, but come on.
Everything was fine for a few years until I noticed Regan breathing heavily. She was only about 6 years old. Turns out, she had congestive heart failure and wasn't going to come home with me. The vet warned me against being in the room with her when she was put down because with heart problems "there's a lot of gasping." There was no way I was going to put myself through that, so I sat there with her for a long time and said my final goodbyes. She was a great kitty with a funny square mouth and I miss her all the time.
Cat #7: New Kitty.
I adopted New Kitty from the most reputable shelter in the area - a gorgeous, no-kill place. She was a short-hair tortoiseshell and super sweet. Merlin tolerated her just fine. He's really too big to care about anything other than himself. After about a year, though, New Kitty's personality started to change. She'd attack me every time I walked by (yes, she had claws), and she was starting to bite. Not nibble. Bite. It was vicious and I was starting to relate to the stories of people being afraid of cats because of a nasty attack. New Kitty was only 10 pounds, but she was a bad ass.
One night she was up on my bed and I purposely wasn't looking at her because I knew she'd jump me. She jumped me anyway, dug her claws all the way into my arm, then her 2 front fangy teeth. I pushed her off the bed with a loud "NO!" and my finger pointing at her and you know what she did? That little bitch jumped back up on the bed and shredded my ass.
The next day she was on a ride back to the shelter.
Today, I only have Merlin, but he's more than enough. He's now 39 pounds, a real kitty heifer, but he's a great cat. He doesn't even care that I got a fish tank - all that entertainment, wasted. My friend who goes with me to put my cats down once knew she had to start making jokes or I'd drowned myself in red wine.
"You know, you could start a business, considering the crap luck you have with cats. My sister's cat is 22, incontinent, blind, deaf, shits outside the litter box, but refuses to die. One day with you and that cat would finally succumb. Hey, you should start a Kitty be Gone website. Got a cat you want to get rid of? Tired of that pesky pet hair? Call 1-800-KTY-BGON."
As harsh as it sounds, it was the perfect thing to pull me out of my funk. And, once you've 'killed' as many cats as I have you start to get a little numb about it. I tell myself that the cat, while alive, had a much better life with me than anyone else, and there are millions of others out there needing a good home.
If I ever have a cat live past 10, I'm writing Guinness. Merlie's pushing that now, so keep your fingers crossed. Otherwise, you'll probably see me down at the shelter again, casting my shitty luck on the next unsuspecting victim.
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