My Two Cats

 My Two Cats

I had two cats. Now I have one. One was euthanized. Let me explain.

Gas and Light were my two cats. I got them from my nephew, who had a moma cat who periodically escaped the coup and went out on a mating spree. Cats will be cats. She always comes home after the wild weekend and has her kittens in the comfort of a closet in a spare bedroom. What a nice setup.

Best of both worlds. When we got cats when I was a child they were born in a barn. My grandfather’s barn on his farm in Canterbury, Connecticut.

Gas and Light. I named them such because when I brought them home they disappeared into the woodwork for several days, For several days I could not find them. The food I put out was depleted and the litter box I put out was filled.. And late at night I would hear a pathetic little, “Meuw” coming from… somewhere. I finally located them under a love seat that I thought was too narrow to hide any living thing under it. How wrong was I. 

Gas and Light. The smaller one had the look of a sweet cat, so I named him Light. I thought he was the, “good one.” The larger one seemed to be problematic, so he got the moniker, “Gas.” 

Time passed, as is its want. Things changed. Things stayed the same. My cats developed… personalities.

Not particularly nice personalities.

They were… difficult animals. They would hiss at me and run away and hide. But sometimes they would come and sit on my lap and let me pet them and purr like nice little kitties should. They were inconsistent. Are you naughty or nice? Pick one! Please!

I endured this odd behavior for six years.

Then one day I got an infestation of fleas. They are stay at home cats with nonexistent access to the outdoors. And for several years it worked.

Then it didn’t.

So I had two cats with fleas and fleas everywhere in my house. I had ripped up the wall-to-wall carpet everywhere in my house and replaced it with Bruce oak flooring boards. I would have done that anyway, cats or no cats. The oak flooring looks better. And it was not a habitat for fleas or just general filth. I don’t believe carpet cleaners really work. Or so I thought.

The cats, of course, had fleas. Lots of them. Oodles of them. A shitload of them. And I bomb, bomb, bombed my house to get rid of them.

To no avail.

I tried putting Advantage flea drip on my cats’ necks. That was a disaster. I tried washing my bedding and any other fabric something in my house. Clothing. Underwear. Etc. I sprayed odd corners with aerosol flea killer. They just set up flea habitats in the corners and among the cat dander that collected there. I vacuumed it all up. To no avail.

Of the two cats, Light was the more scrawny. He had the look of an alley cat. Feral and dangerous. Gas was fatter and more like what I would expect of a house cat. Like the barn cats we got from my grandfather’s barn. Cats that would hiss and scratch if you tried to pet them in the barn but would be sweet and gentle if you got them in time as kittens and raised them in a nineteen sixties suburban house, such as mine was. A cat paradise for cats who won the lottery and found himself or herself in a cushy home, not catching mice in a grain silo and hissing at the hands that feed them. Which actually did not feed them. They were on their own. In the barn. And by the way, excess cats were drowned.

That’s harsh. That’s life, and death, for a cat on the farm. That’s just the way it is.

And I was forced to make that choice in my own home.

The fleafestation was getting critical in my house. I had flea bombed the house to oblivion and still no relief. I had to do something at the source.

My two cats.

I took Light, the scrawny little cat that I thought was the good one, and held him down on a bed while clutching him by his belly hair. And I tried to put the Advantage flea drip on his neck.

He went berserk.

I’m not kidding. He actually went berserk, twisting around and scratching me on my arm. I decided then that I can’t live like this. I can’t not have my kids come over for dinner and a movie. Both of them are flea magnets. They don’t bother me. I’m not their cuisine, I guess. But they gravitate to my children like bees to Spring flowers.

And they bite

He, Light, had to go. I wasn’t sure about the other one; Gas. He seemed to be more domestic. When I failed at putting the frontline on Light, I put it on Gas. He took it acceptably. Like a domestic cat. Like a good barn cat that’s acclimated to a good nineteen sixties home.

I took pictures of my right arm. Of the two scratches down my arm, the scratch on my elbow, and the scratch across my wrist. They bled. They were unacceptable.

I called Pasco County animal control. Explained what had happened. Said that I had an animal that had to be euthanized. It was a hazard. A danger.

They agreed.

First thing in the morning both cats would run into my bedroom and act cute and cuddly. I could count on that, however they treated me the rest of the day. So I took Light and put him in a cat carrier stowed in a bathroom. He was understandably distraught. It was several hours until I had an appointment with Animal Control. They would keep him in isolation for a week to insure that he is not infected with any diseases, like rabies. Then they would put him down.

I had my son in law come with me to the facility, which was somewhere in Pasco County, Florida. I just needed someone to be there. It’s not every day you kill a companion. And leave his brother alone.

On his own. 

Light shit the carrier, which I was compelled to keep him in from 7:00 when I woke up until 11:00 when the appointment was scheduled. I was afraid he would be hiding if I waited longer.

I expected it. The shit in the carrier. I would probably do the same. Seeth, my son in law, was here and present in the bathroom where I could close the door and keep him isolated. We took him out of the carrier, washed it, and put him back in. He still had some shit in his fur. During the whole time he was terrified. He didn’t run. He didn’t scratch. He just... sat there. In the sink where I put him while I cleaned his carrier. I should have cleaned him, but I just cleaned out the carrier. So it wouldn’t seem dirty. He deserved as much. More, actually.

At the shelter the clerk asked me lots of questions. “Do you have a picture of your cat from at least 60 days ago?” They wanted to make sure it was my cat and not a neighbor’s cat thar annoyed me and which I wanted killed. I had a picture in my camera folder of Light in an Amazon box that I had put on Facebook. I also had a selfie picture of the bloody slash on my arm. 

That settled all debate.

They scanned Light and he had an implant. It must have been inserted when I had him and his brother neutered. It was mine alright. Not the next door neighbor’s.

“I’m sorry, Kittie,” I said to him through the prison doors of the cat carrier when the paperwork was all done. “I tried to give you a good home. Put in a good word for me, OK?”

And then the deed was done. A week later I got a message. Light was no more.

Gas found himself. He’s much more friendly. Not quite a lap cat, but at least he tolerates me. And shows some affection. And lets me put the frontline on his neck, grudgingly.

Maybe my home can find some balance. For a change.