Oonaugh's final day
She was alone in her cage, the last of her litter to be adopted. She had a cold and looked lonely and miserable in the animal shelter. We brought her home and fell in love. We had hoped that she and our other black cat would become friends, but he wasn't having it. He never made her feel welcome. We did, however, welcome her and her dynamic personality soon bloomed.
She was the only cat that I've known that would play fetch. We'd throw a sponge foam ball and she would tear after it. On capturing it, she'd bat it around a bit and then pick it up, bring it all the back, drop it at our feet, and then wait for the next round. Sometimes, if the game were indoors, she'd take the ball to the cat door and look out for a while before bringing it back.
She loved her toy balls. They come in four pastel colors and we made sure that she had a lot of them. On warm summer nights, we'd hear her outside singing to her ballies as she played with them: little singsong meows that said “happy”. Later in life we noticed that she would sort them by color. We'd get up in the morning to find four blue balls on the walk outside the yurt. Several green ones would be grouped down the path to the cottage. We'd mix them up only to find them sorted back by color the next morning.
Oonaugh, also loved to go for walks. She'd follow us out to the edge of the property. She understood the word, “stay”. When told that, she'd immediately sit down. Paul and I would continue our walk and on getting back to the farm a half hour later, she'd still be sitting in the same place. We'd call to her, she'd get up, stretch and run out to greet us with her tail held high.
Oonaugh was a great hunter. I remember sometime in her second year when she tried to stuff a rabbit through the cat door that just as big as she was. Once we saw her out playing in the rose garden, flinging something into the air repeatedly. When we approached, we realized it was rabbit entrails: guts, whee!
When we built the new yurt with the smooth hardwood floor, we would hear her dance during the night. Fascinated by the smooth surface, she'd jump and slide, swiping her feet back and forth. Frequently, she'd sing while she did it.
She came down with cancer this spring. A tumor blocked her bowel. She had the surgery to remove it, recovery was trying, but we knew that we bought her only a little time. About a month after surgery, she began to dance again during the night.
Another month and a half later and Oonough's reprieve has run out. She's clearly in distress as her colon appears to be completely blocked again. The vet agrees, there is very little to be done for her.
Today, like every day really, she is the Queen. She's getting every attention and anything that she wants to eat. She played briefly this morning, but has spent most of the day sleeping. She looks up and purrs when we approach even though she's clearly uncomfortable. If she's up for it, we'll go for a walk this evening.
Saturday morning, tomorrow, her long time vet will come out to the farm to do what is necessary. We want her to go quietly here on the farm that's been her home for these last eleven years. We will bury her, along with a collection of her favorite balls, on the South end of the grape arbor near the front door of the yurt.
I'm really sad.
More Oonaugh photos: Oonaugh on Picasa
She was the only cat that I've known that would play fetch. We'd throw a sponge foam ball and she would tear after it. On capturing it, she'd bat it around a bit and then pick it up, bring it all the back, drop it at our feet, and then wait for the next round. Sometimes, if the game were indoors, she'd take the ball to the cat door and look out for a while before bringing it back.
She loved her toy balls. They come in four pastel colors and we made sure that she had a lot of them. On warm summer nights, we'd hear her outside singing to her ballies as she played with them: little singsong meows that said “happy”. Later in life we noticed that she would sort them by color. We'd get up in the morning to find four blue balls on the walk outside the yurt. Several green ones would be grouped down the path to the cottage. We'd mix them up only to find them sorted back by color the next morning.
Oonaugh, also loved to go for walks. She'd follow us out to the edge of the property. She understood the word, “stay”. When told that, she'd immediately sit down. Paul and I would continue our walk and on getting back to the farm a half hour later, she'd still be sitting in the same place. We'd call to her, she'd get up, stretch and run out to greet us with her tail held high.
Oonaugh was a great hunter. I remember sometime in her second year when she tried to stuff a rabbit through the cat door that just as big as she was. Once we saw her out playing in the rose garden, flinging something into the air repeatedly. When we approached, we realized it was rabbit entrails: guts, whee!
When we built the new yurt with the smooth hardwood floor, we would hear her dance during the night. Fascinated by the smooth surface, she'd jump and slide, swiping her feet back and forth. Frequently, she'd sing while she did it.
She came down with cancer this spring. A tumor blocked her bowel. She had the surgery to remove it, recovery was trying, but we knew that we bought her only a little time. About a month after surgery, she began to dance again during the night.
Another month and a half later and Oonough's reprieve has run out. She's clearly in distress as her colon appears to be completely blocked again. The vet agrees, there is very little to be done for her.
Today, like every day really, she is the Queen. She's getting every attention and anything that she wants to eat. She played briefly this morning, but has spent most of the day sleeping. She looks up and purrs when we approach even though she's clearly uncomfortable. If she's up for it, we'll go for a walk this evening.
Saturday morning, tomorrow, her long time vet will come out to the farm to do what is necessary. We want her to go quietly here on the farm that's been her home for these last eleven years. We will bury her, along with a collection of her favorite balls, on the South end of the grape arbor near the front door of the yurt.
I'm really sad.
More Oonaugh photos: Oonaugh on Picasa