Goodbye, Ike

Ike the Cat is gone. No poems to make us sadder than we need be, no requiem, no photo.

He's been in a decline: thinning fur, taking longer to eat, losing weight, not quite his old self. He began to hide:in the tractor shop, up high on a stack of boxes refusing to answer my calls. Then one day he hid behind the freezer, reluctant to answer me. It got worse. Lane found him in the engine compartment of the Kubota RTV.

He left his favorite places to sleep, no longer taking up residence an a new cardboard box with a towel put out for his amusement, or spreading out in the dog hut as if he owned it.

When I finally called him up at noon in hopes of finding him in time for his 3pm appointment, he appeared from behind the roses as if he'd just now heard me. I went to the mule barn and went inside. He came in under the big door we'd left cracked just room for him.

 As soon as he was inside, he went over behind the air compressor and generator to find a place to hide. He came out when I brought food and water. I think he had stopped drinking water, his water bowl had stopped being sucked down quickly the way it used to.

The vet offered lab tests as little tufts of Ike's fur swirled around the exam room. I agreed. He showed me results. One line across the little blood smear meant NO Feline Leukemia. Two Lines across the smear below it meant positive for Feline Immunosuppresive Virus, the Kitty equivelent of HIV. Not a threat to people or dogs. Probably passed to him through a bite a few months ago when he lost the skin off his ear and had a deep puncture wound on his head. No immunization, no FIV drugs or antibiotics for it.

Eight years old, not a long life for a cat. He was named for the Hurricane that blew in about the time he turned up here, homeless rolling over to show what a cute kitty he was. We had him neutered, gave him all those exotic kitty shots every year, bought cat treats and gave him a heated cat hut for his winter bed.  He aspired to be a house cat but could not resist disgracing himself in a closet.

Sometimes he caught a mouse or two, or a squirrel. The last rat I saw him with, he let the dog take it away from him.

We'll miss him. He was a good kitty.