Sunday, October 14, 2012

A death in the family


A few weeks ago I wrote about my carefully orchestrated schedule to keep predators and prey separated. This week, in spite of my efforts, there was a death in my family. My beloved orange and white tabby, Orange Juice (OJ), is gone, and my own dogs killed him. This is painful to admit.

Before I tell you how OJ died, I want to tell you about his life. Like so many of my critters, I don’t know where he came from or what his story was. But I loved him dearly.

One cool spring night in March 2008, while putting food outside for the barn cats, I noticed a large, scraggly, orange and white tabby cat hanging back near a grove of trees in the yard. I called to him, but he ran off.

Every night when I put out the food the stray cat was there, but he never let me get close. I started sitting by the door and calling to him each night; gradually he came closer and closer.

By August, the stray finally let me touch his head, and the rest was history. A week later I was able to get him into a carry cage to go to the vet. He had the usual afflictions of a stray: fleas, ticks, ear mites, and internal parasites. My vet said he was about 10 years old, and since he had not been neutered, I had that done before I brought him home.

My then 2-year old granddaughter was visiting at the time, and while I called the new cat Orange (because of his color), she insisted his name should be Orange Juice. OJ’s the name that stuck.

Normally a male cat neutered so late in life will be rather unpleasant and continue to mark his scent in the house, but OJ was a perfect gentleman. He quickly became an indoor cat, and filled an empty space at the foot of our bed, day and night.

OJ was full of life, but also full of mischief. When my husband and I played cards at night, OJ often jumped in the middle of the table and batted the cards onto the floor. When I sat at my desk to do school work, he would sit in my lap and purr his encouragement. Often when I petted him he would playfully bite my hand.

Unfortunately, OJ also liked to taunt the dogs, running to get inside the house just before they got to him. Other times he would sit silently by the side of the road while the dogs ran obliviously by him, then turn to hiss when they were too far away to catch him. I’m sure it never occurred to OJ, but I knew that as he got older and ran slower, this might become a deadly game.

And so it did. Last Sunday, I heard the dogs barking by the garage, and went out to find OJ on the ground surrounded by my four younger dogs. We quickly took him to the Animal Emergency Room. He had a punctured lung, and several bite wounds, but did fairly well throughout Sunday night and early Monday morning.

The Animal Emergency Room is only open nights and weekends, so on Monday morning I picked up OJ and drove him to my regular vet. He purred and licked my hand as I held him in the car. I was optimistic that he would be okay.

But it was not to be so. My vet knows that I won't allow animals to suffer because I'm afraid to let them die. When OJ became distressed Tuesday morning, she euthanized him. I know it was not an easy decision for her, because she knew OJ too, but it was the right decision.

We buried OJ Tuesday afternoon, near the same grove of trees he once hid in when I called to him at night. I can see his grave from my door.

I know my dogs had no malice aforethought —they are, as I have told you, killing machines, and were just doing what a pack of dogs will do. But I’ve struggled unsuccessfully all week to forgive and forget. I’m not sure I'm capable of doing so.

In the meantime, I think again how fragile life is. And I am reminded of the importance of keeping my predators separated from their prey. 

No comments:

Post a Comment