Little Joe was really getting up in years. Persians have a shorter lifespan than many other breeds, probably because of their “smooshed” in noses. In any case he was starting to growl and hiss at his formerly good buddy, Rocky. Rocky would try to play and Little Joe would try to get away and head for the hills. Plus Rocky was coming into his prime and turning into a good sized cat!
I felt bad for Little Joe. I figured he deserved some peace in his old age. While visiting friend who had 9 cats I learned she was being forced to re-home all but 3. The city she lived in had a pet restriction to try to prevent animal hoarding..no more than 3 cats in any home. She was desperate.
While we talked one of her 9 cats kept rubbing around my legs. When I didn’t give it any attention it jumped right into my lap and then climbed up my chest to get right in my face. Most cats don’t like to stare but this one locked his bright green eyes on mine as if to say, I’m yours. His purr was so powerful it vibrated his whole body. In that moment of weakness I told her if she was stuck, I’d take him. His name was Smokey.
Now if you have ever tried to find a home for a cat you know how hard it is. So not surprisingly about 2 weeks later I got a call. Would I still take Smokey? Could I come pick him up? By now I’d had second thoughts but I put myself in her shoes and kept my promise. Smokey came to live with Little Joe, Rocky and me. We were now a 3 cat household… a 3 cat- all male cat – household.
All the boys were neutered so that was a good thing. Little Joe and Rocky had all their claws. I do not believe in de-clawing. Smokey was a beautiful, gentle longhaired gray cat but somewhere along the line someone had de-clawed him.
Rocky welcomed the newcomer right away. A new playmate – but Little Joe would have nothing to do with this interloper. I tried the slow introduction, the challenge line with food, the territory swap, pheromones, everything I could think of but Little Joe hated Smokey. Fur flew often and Smokey didn’t back down just because he had a handicap.
About a year after Smokey joined us and an uneasy truce had finally been established, Little Joe began to fail. The Vet ran all kinds of tests and from December to March I lived at the vet’s office trying to find out what was wrong. Little Joe had stomach cancer. By the time it was found the tumor was so large that it filled most of the stomach cavity and Little Joe was starving to death. He had deteriorated to the point that he was too weak for surgery so the Vet recommended we release him and put him down.
Little Joe had just celebrated his 14th birthday. I held him when the vet administered the medications. There was just one small sigh and he was gone. Suffer no more, my baby! RIP.
It’s been years since I said good bye to Little Joe but I still cry when I remember those last moments. Letting go is the hardest part of being a pet guardian.
