It brings me great sadness to pass along word that Ramses Dewees, name-rhyming renegade, will be moving on to that great cat-nip laden, treat-feeding, heated sofa in the sky. No, he’s not there yet, but while Rammies is still with us, I thought I would pay him tribute.
The Raminator has dropped some poundange recently. Usually you think that’s a good thing, but not in a cat whose 13 and has always been on the portly side. I think we all knew something was up when he stopped frequenting his favorite pastime…. Window stalking the cat that lives across the street from my parents. Said cat, who we call Bo Jangles, but whose real name is either Vinnie or Minnie, would saunter past Ram’s windows a few times a day, and it was Rammie’s favorite thing to follow its movements from window to window. For the past few weeks? No mas. This, with the weight loss, put up some red flags.
Rammies took his first vet trip in over a decade. Yeah, he’s “that” cat that people would rather just allow to skip the shots because it’s that big of a headache and heartache to take him to the vet. So you know it’s bidnaz time when Raminator needs a vet run. Anyways, blood work shows that he’s got cancer. Where tis? No one knows, and none of us are interested in subjecting him to xrays and sonograms just so we can know what kind of cancer will eventually kill him. The vet suggested two choices 1- give him chemo or 2- let him enjoy his last few days/weeks/months until he either a) dies at home or b) stops eating and drinking, at which point that means he is now not feeling well and we put him to sleep. Since we all agree that choice 1 is a choice made by selfish people who are more interested in keeping an animal around for themselves than doing what’s best for the animal, we obviously chose option 2. Uh, this isn’t a human being we’re talking about here. Chemo? For a cat? Yeah, no thanks. Believe it or not people, it’s an option, and there are actually people out there that would subject a CAT to rounds of chemotherapy.
Ramses, if he wore clothes, would surely don himself in a tweed suit custom made for him on London’s Savile Row. In other words, he’d rather go out in a tuna- eating blaze of glory then mope around, sick-like. According to the vet, as long as he's eating, and drinking and wanting to do most normal activities (relentlessly hounding my Mom for more treats, getting pissy when you disturb him from slumbering on your lap, etc.) then he's oblivious to his pending doom and should be fine. So, Rammies will continue to live high on the hog, as he’s done for the past 13 years, until we feel he is…well, not.
Superstitious people like myself beware, Rammies defies the odds and even though he's A- a black cat, ominous creatures that people seem to avoid walking in front of, and B- now that his number's being called at lucky ol 13. For god's sake he fell 2 stories out of a faulty screen window in my bedroom at a few months old, and then about 4 days later, just casually walked in our backdoor, as we were leaving to look at a stray black cat that was reported to us a few blocks away. For being the runt of the litter that no one wanted, nabbing my parents as caregivers was probably the luckiest thing to ever happen to him. He’s had the most indulgent life a cat can have in the ownership of people who are not crazy. Sure, there are probably cats out there who have an even MORE indulgent lifestyle, but those owners are the type that leave pets in their will, kind of crazy. My parents are not, and this cat is treated like a Duke in the most reasonable forms.
Thanks for the memories Rammies. To me, you will always be that little tiny furball that could fit in the palm of one hand, my present for my 17th birthday. You will be enjoying a strange surplus of tuna and treats over the next few weeks, with no clue as to why. And, knowing Rammies’ privileged expectations on his behalf, he’s not asking “Why??”, he’s asking “It’s me. Why not??” We wouldn't want it any other way.
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