Jonathan Crowe: Chaos the cat is dying

He has a snow white coat, a gentle disposition and one blue eye and one green eye. But after 14 years, Chaos the cat is on his last legs.

Since Christmas, we've been watching Chaos waste away before our eyes. He's never been particularly robust. We realized that on his first day with us.

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On the way back from the animal shelter our new cat was spectacularly car sick.

When we brought in another cat to keep him company, Chaos tried repeatedly to chew his own leg off. He's been mauled and victimized by every other cat on our street.

At the best of times, Chaos is a neurotic cat. But lately he's been losing weight and behaving strangely, even for him.

His vision is going, he does his business in odd places, like the laundry basket. Never the dirty laundry though; always the clean.

We find him on the kitchen counter, face inches from the wall, just staring. He's uncomfortable; he can't put his hindquarters down. He's making the humans around him act strangely, too.

We find him on the kitchen counter, face inches from the wall, just staring. He's uncomfortable; he can't put his hindquarters down. He's making the humans around him act strangely, too.- Jonathan Crowe

I came home from a trip recently to discover that Chaos's new home was on the dining room table in a cardboard box covered with one of my old T-shirts.

I joked that Chaos was in his "palliative care" box. Not funny, said my better half.

We had people over to dinner the other night. They were visitors, not quite close friends, so we were putting on airs.

To save face, we had to pretend that we were outraged about Chaos's attempts to climb onto the table during the meal. Our guests had no idea that his home was actually ON the table.

The dreaded trip to the vet

So this morning my wife, who's a nurse and taught to recognize these things, said: "Chaos is uncomfortable. You need to call the vet."

That's code for "the cat needs to be put down."

I am the wrong person to be the designated executioner. As my Yorkshire-born parents would say, I am as "soft as muck."

Ten years ago I cried when I was assigned the burial of my oldest daughter's hamster, behind the compost bin.

Hammy travelled into the next world with all the splendour of an Egyptian pharoah in a Cozy Shack rice pudding box.

But it'll be worse this time around.

I know I've been prolonging Chaos's life out of my own cowardice and selfishness.

He's been a good cat.

There's much to miss about Chaos

I'll miss the sunny mornings in August enjoying coffee and a book on the deck with Chaos rolling on the back lawn in the sunshine.

I'll miss how he greets me with the combination meow and purr when I come downstairs to put the morning coffee on.

And I'll miss looking out into the front garden to see his white face amongst the Iris's and poppies.

Chaos is more than a cat.

He's part of the family and soon he'll be gone. 

Mercifully, my daughters are now old enough to understand. Two are in their 20s, one is in high school. So I won't have to explain too much to them.

But I know there will be tears.

I rationalize that Chaos will soon be out of his misery, and that for the girls, owning a pet is a good way to learn about life and death.

Although, it's my hope that when I get old and decrepit I'm not dispatched until the daughters consult with me first.

I tell myself that 14 years is a great run for a cat, especially an outdoor cat. I just wish it wasn't me having to make the call. 

This will be a rough week.