Our oldest cat, a beautiful brown tabby with golden eyes and an almost constant purr, slipped quietly away from us on May 9th, 2000.

She put up a valiant fight against a terrible killer---- feline CRF (Chronic Renal Failure)--- for five months after  her diagnosis. For  nearly all of that time, except for two days of IV treatment, Maribeth was at home, in the presence of those companions--- human and animal--- who loved her. Through more than one of the worst evenings her old friend Katie sat inches away from her, upright and silent, refusing food and unwilling to move, seeming to know that her chum was in need of her reassuring presence.

For a while we were calling her "The Comeback Kid," because of her remarkable bounce-back from a near fatal "crash" (rapid system failure) in mid-February. On what we thought then would be her last night on earth, I held her for a long time, telling her stories about the old days in San Francisco, her home town.  She had lost ground (and weight) very quickly, and within 72 hours was barely more than skin and bone--- though we were assured by her vet that she was in no pain.  This is a bit of her story.   

 

 

 

She was adopted from the San Francisco SPCA, a tiny 8 week old kitten, on the very day she was brought in. So for all of her life all she knew was kindness and care from people who loved her--- it means a lot to me to know that. She grew up to be a wonderful companion and chum, bonding especially closely to my then-husband, Michael, who---as a university student--- was home more often than I was in those days.

 

 

 

   

Our Beth was a great huntress in her youth--- though she seemed just as happy "hunting" cat toys from other felines in the neighborhood as she did anything else. She looked magnificent in the California sunshine, sleek and beautiful, roaming freely over the wild grass-covered hill opposite our place on Greystone Terrace.  She was at her physical and emotional peak then, it certainly was the happiest time of her life, and I have made her a promise that I will take her home to San Francisco and scatter her ashes on the hill she loved so much.

 

 

 

My beautiful golden-eyed girl.  Despite her early hunts, she was a cat of rare gentleness and dignity and delicate feelings all of her life.  She was fastidious and sensitive~~~ but she also provided us with several (inadvertently) very funny moments.  

I remember once in 1986 after we had moved to Seattle, that I called her for dinner and she came sauntering out of the downstairs bathroom with a cigarette in her mouth.   The hilarious thing about it was that the cigarette was positioned perfectly--- just as if Bethie were about to light up and puff--- with the filter end held delicately between her lips.  Michael and I howled with laughter.  

Sometimes we called her "Marilyn," because she liked to climb up into the top segment of her condo and crook her elbow out of the opening, resting there and looking very seductive.  Well, for a cat.

 

       

 

 

In 1987 her three-year reign as an only cat ended with our acquisition of Katie (top in the picture below), a purebred Maine Coon who was a birthday gift from Michael our first year in Seattle.  Beth wasn't thrilled, but in time "the girls" came to an understanding, and became dear and familiar to one another.

Bethie took the 1986 move to Seattle very hard, and fell into a depression that lasted the better part of a year.  Her hill had disappeared--- she kept going to different doors in the Seattle house and asking to be let out--- thinking perhaps that if she could just pick the right door, everything would be as it had been.  

After a time, she adjusted to her new life as an indoor cat, the dowager empress, and chief care-giver of the household.  She came to enjoy showing Katie the ropes and always checked behind her to see that Kate was trailing along. Though they snapped at one another now and then, when one or the other was at the vet for the day, the other forlornly searched the house for her pal.

When Michael and I separated in 1994, Maribeth was a great comfort to me, snuggling beneath the covers at night and resting her warm self against me, seeming to know I needed her closeness.

 

 

 

 

There was one more move in her life--- a big one this time--- across the continent to Nova Scotia, Canada in 1998.  And there was more need of her aid and comfort.  My husband-to-be, Peter, found a flat for us while I was still in Seattle, and moved into it alone.  I couldn't be there for several more months--- so I sent Kate and Beth on ahead to keep him company.

Beth went right to work, snuggling under the covers with Peter, greeting him at the door when he came home from work, and generally making herself useful in the bug-catching and soul-soothing departments.  Peter has often remarked on what good care Beth took of him in those days, and they developed a special bond because of it.

 

 

 

In good time I joined the merry crew, and Peter and I found a wonderful house a few months after I arrived.  Beth, now showing her age, pronounced herself enormously fond of the new place, which had wonderful, carpeted bay window seats on which she could sun herself for hours and warm her old bones.  Peter fed her bits of bacon in the mornings, and I gathered her up in my arms and sat with her in the evenings, returning the favours of warmth and comfort she had always dispensed to me so generously.  But poor Beth's trials weren't over.  To her dismay, Peter and I could not be talked out of rescuing a cat called Maxx in early December of 1999.  The gorgeous dark smoke-and-silver boy had been abandoned, and we couldn't resist giving him safe harbour.  Beth protested vigorously at first, but as seen here, finally shrugged and gave in to the inevitable.  Maxx (at left), Kate (up top) and Maribeth formed a tacit alliance, and were known to take their ease together in the living room as shown.  

 

 

 

Ahhh--- but there was one more hairy trial for our Beth!

Beth set right about teaching young Reilly to keep his distance, and we made sure he understood from his first day in the household that Maribeth was due his respect and his absence from her claimed spaces.  Reilly's been very good about it--- it only took a couple of raked noses for him to get the message!  

      

 

 

In all, 1999-2000 was a peaceful time for my old girl.  She had her sunbeams, and her little cubbyhole beneath the kitchen desk where there was a soft bed close to a heater.  The summer of '99 was especially nice for her.  For the first time in many years she ventured out into the great green world to explore and to sniff the warm air.  She sat on the porch in the sun, she strolled about the lawn, and even took a passing interest in some of the local insects! As the cold weather approached, her arthritis was helped by medicine that made it easier for her to move about, though her "territory" became more and more circumscribed as winter wore on.  

In late December, concerned about her lethargy, we visited her vet and tests confirmed that her kidneys had begun to fail. More medicine and infusions of fluid boosted their function.  I wanted her always to be free of pain and of worry, and to know that she was dearly loved by us all.

Her gait became halt, with little sign of her former speed and grace.  Her once luxurious, plush coat grew sparse, and my once fastidious cat lost interest in grooming--- a task I gladly took over for her with brush and soft cloth, with clippers and dry shampoo.  Her eyes were clear and as golden as ever, and her purr was still as ready as a kitten's.  She had always liked to lie in my arms on her back---like a baby--- the only cat of mine who ever did.  And so I would cradle her in the evening, after I had given her medicine and groomed her. We would sit together on the couch in the dark, my Bethie and me, and I would tell her stories about the hill and the hunts, about the day I brought her home, about how much she meant to me, to all of us.

Then came what we thought would be our last night together.  She'd had subcutaneous fluids at the vet that afternoon, and he said (literally) that if Beth was still with us in the morning, he'd give her IV fluids to flush her kidneys and see what function was left.  It was a very long night, with many tears, and frequent visits to check on her. The next morning I crept down the stairs, Bethie's embroidered shroud in one hand.  Every step was full of dread.

But when I reached the main floor--- there was Beth, perched on top of the couch calmly washing her face!

I raced her to the vet for a day's worth of IV fluids and some vitamins.  For three months following that scare, she gained weight, regained muscle control, reclaimed the house, and enjoyed her sunbeams, her companions, and her dignity.

But in early May she began to fail again, slowing down and sleeping more as the toxins once again built up in her small body. 

I learned to give her fluids at home, and she was so good about it--- lying quietly on a towel over a heating pad, purring as the warmed liquid flowed into her. Gradually they had less effect, and she began to look at me in a way I was unprepared to see.

For more than an hour one evening we sat on the couch, Beth in my arms, and I reassured her that no matter how hard this was for me, I would be all right--- and that my caretaker-girl was free to let go and rest, if it was that time. Wanting to give her every chance, the next morning we made one more attempt to flush her with a long day of IV fluids and tests.

 

 

 

But this time, we were fresh out of miracles.  In the morning she was no better. She sat and stared vacantly out the kitchen window at the spring-green lawn as a gentle rain fell. She turned to look at me when I came quietly into the room, and I could see--- though I didn't want to--- that the best part of my Maribeth was already gone.

Her passing was swift and gentle.  Our grief was overwhelming.  

For almost seventeen years Maribeth gave us the grace of her gentleness and the blessing of her unqualified love--- and nothing I did for her ever seemed to be thanks enough for that. We will miss her always.

 

Maribeth

October 1983May 2000

 

 

   Katie

 

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