Ode to a bad cat

I have always had a special thing for cats. I learned at an early age to find companionship amongst animals. And it seems as long as I can remember, I always had a special kitty by my side. Until my husband came along, I thought for sure I was going to be that crazy cat lady up the street everybody talks about. But he has brought moderation. My husband is not a cat person. He tolerates them. Ok, he likes them a little but I would not say he is wild about them.

When we first married, I brought my dowry of four cats. All females. All older. All set in their ways. One of these kitties was Molly.

Molly making herself comfortable

It could be said that Molly was the baddest cat of all the cats that ever lived. I mean there are bad cats and then there is Molly. Our favorite Molly story happened the first week we were married. My husband woke in the middle of the night to a hideous odor. It was smelly cat box odor- something he was not yet familiar with and bad enough to wake him out a dead sleep. So like the smitten newlywed he was, he quietly got out of bed as to not wake his sleeping bride, went to the cat box, emptied it, refilled it, and went back to bed. However, the odor persisted. So up he rose again, this time searching the house from corner to corner trying to find the secret poo-pile. But no luck. So, tired and fed up, he just went back to bed and pulled to covers over his head.

I'm sorry? Did you think we were sleeping alone tonight?

The next morning, I woke up and went to the kitchen to get breakfast ready. And there on the small table next to the door was the pile. It sat perched like a proud little pyramid dropped precisely on top of our electric candle warmer- which was turned to the ON position. Apparently the pile of poo was warming all throughout the night. I knew right away who was responsible. It was Molly. She was the only one who could pull something like that off.

I'm using my CAT-ESP to open that door!

Personally, I was quite amazed at how the cat managed to SHIFT the candle that WAS on the warmer so carefully, how exact her aim was, and how she waited to do this in the middle of the night when no one was looking. However, my husband was not so impressed. Thus was his baptism in living with cats.

I'm gonna find my OWN window!

Molly never pulled this again. I feel it was her way of dealing with the anxiety of the move, this new person in her life, and she was simply making her feelings known. However over the years, she managed to pull a variety of other antics. She was a bit overweight and had difficulty making it into the windows to watch the birds outside. Claw marks in the drywall show her struggles. Once she tried to get up onto a shelf in the bathroom to look out the window and the shelf, unable to hold her weight, fell (along with the cat) smashing into our porcelain sink breaking it into 2 pieces. She had grooming issues. She had projectile hairballs. She had a cat box phobia. And she liked to bite you when you pet her and then scratch you when you stopped. She was a mess. She destroyed things. She was altogether a really bad cat. But I loved her anyway.

Nothing like your own personal heater!

Over the years, she and my husband made peace. When we first married, we lived in the city and she was not able to go outside. I believe most of her behavioral issues were a result of being locked indoors all the time. When we moved to the farm where we now live, my husband made it clear she was not going to destroy this house too! I agreed and for the first time in many years, Molly became an outside cat.

Come on! Let me outside!

And she had a glorious time. She spent her afternoons lounging in the shade, watching for squirrels, catching mice, and exploring twelve acres of freedom. At night I put her in the shop to keep her safe from predators and in the mornings I let her out again. She was a happy cat.

About 5 months ago our friend the vet was out for a visit and I asked her to look at Molly. She had been losing some weight (which I was not too concerned about as she was getting much more exercise now) and it was then we discovered she had a mass in her abdomen. We discussed the options- bringing her in for a scan to determine how large the tumor was, to put her on medications, etc. But  ultimately, I decided against it.

Lounging in the afternoon shade.

I wanted to let Molly live out her final days as she was- outside, prowling the fence lines for field mice, sleeping the days away where ever she pleased. I did begin bringing her in the house at night where she slept in the windows of course.

On Friday, Molly ate her breakfast with the other cats and went outside. I saw her later that morning patrolling the fence as usual. By late that afternoon, Molly was gone. She did not suffer. And she spent the last nine months of her life- one happy cat.

Molly- Companion for over 15 years!