Our beautiful but eccentric introvert Sekhmet passed away early Thanksgiving morning. She was 14.
As cats go, Sekhmet was hardly endearing. We used to say that she was had no favorite people. Rather, she had a couple of people she feared the least. But she had her moments, especially in the morning. Her routine would be to pounce up on the bed, get petted, have me follow her around to her places of power for more petting: the plant stand, the dresser, the door. She play with her flying mouse attached to an elastic string, and then about the time I’d go to brush my teeth, she’d hop into the tub for a drink. And at the end of our shower, she’d want to explore the insides of whatever clothes we’d gotten out for the day.
She was a tiny thing. In her middle age, she had a pudgy period, but since her cancer two years back, we had the devil of a time keeping flesh on her bones. When she died she weighed six pounds. We couldn’t get her to eat. On Monday night, she had a small attack, and we think it might have been a stroke. She had seizures that sometimes took her back legs out for 30 seconds, but this was different. After this, she doddered and couldn’t keep her head up. Because I had to work Tuesday, Bryon took her to the vet, perhaps to put her to sleep. The vet thought that maybe she had an infection that was affecting her nervous system, so we kept her alive for two more days trying pills and feeding her with an eye dropper. She didn’t make it more than two days.
Of course, she’s been our companion for 14 years. We feel her loss. We feel the house is emptier. Bastet, her litter mate, robust and fat at 14, hasn’t really noticed so that we can tell. They spent most of their time in other areas of the house.
As is our custom, we have hung her picture on the wall, along with our deceased boys Toby and Michael. Sekhmet is lying sleek and black in a window, her sea green eyes shining at us from across the room. Our little runt. Our pumpkin princess. Our perpetual kitten. Our miniature indoor panther. A cat collects a lot of mythos and nicknames in 14 years. Good bye, sweet little one. I miss you. Even the hissing.