Last week we lost our sixteen year old cat, Petey.
Petey (needless to say, not named by me) started off life as a kitten adopted by one of my roommates when I was in Graduate school. My roommate soon tired of the pet, and it became the job of the rest of us to take care of him. He began by being a third wheel for Agamemnon and Menlaus who were happy enough without this new young upstart who always bothered them. But they grudgingly accepted him, and I adopted him myself after his poking and prodding of Agamemnon kept him alive through a major near-death trial that he had years ago.
Of course that didn’t prevent Petey from pushing Agamemnon out of a third story window a few years later.
When Agamemnon and Menelaus died a few years ago, Petey was absolutely bereft. His pals were gone and he went into what can only be described as a cat depression, if there is such a thing. His health went south and it didn’t look good for him at all until we adopted the new kittens, Electra and Orestes. At first, Petey wasn’t amused, but the kittens quickly grew on him and Petey recovered his health and spirit for another two years.
He had been fighting cancer for a little over a month, doing pretty well all things considered, but early last week he quickly took a turn for the worse. The end came quickly, fortunately, and we buried him in the back yard next to Agamemnon and Menelaus. At least they got a few years reprieve.
He will be sorely missed.
