October 22, 2018
I am a dog person. I would never have chosen a cat.
But back in 2001, my roommate and I lived in an apartment that didn’t allow dogs, and when my then-girlfriend, Michelle, moved in, she wanted a pet. She sold me on the Maine Coon (so named for their lion-like maine when adults) as a breed because of their dog-like nature. So reluctantly I agreed, and we ended up with a few-month old kitten who came from show cats but was the runt of the litter we named Shadow (then later “Viking Shadow,” because we thought the Maine Coon resembled the Norwegian Forest Cat).
I didn’t kill him.
Shadow and I reached a truce; he didn’t surprise me like that, and I didn’t get so angry at him. And then something strange happened. Even though it was Michelle who doted on him, Shadow started wanting to spend more time near me. Then on my lap. Then he’d follow me around and greet me when I came home. And somehow, I have no idea how or why, Shadow decided he was my cat.
He did have one achilles heel—he was never a good eater, and was extremely thin. Despite tests, vets never found anything wrong with him, he just had no extra weight. And we knew that meant that when he did start to shut down, he’d go fast.
The average lifespan of a Maine Coon according to maincoonexpert.com is 11 to 13 years. Also according to that site, Maine Coons are prone to Polycystic Kidney Disease, for which there are no symptoms in their youth, and no treatment available other than a low protein diet. In his 17th year, it became clear that his health was fading. He could barely see. He had severe arthritis in his back legs and couldn’t straighten them or jump high anymore. Shadow definitely began to exhibit symptoms of PKD, with a very poor appetite, vomiting, and peeing all the time. But he still had energy, loved spending time with me, and was still cantankerous when displeased.
This weekend, as fast as we feared it might happen, his health collapsed. On Saturday, he seemed a bit sluggish, and worryingly was whimpering. By Sunday, he was barely able to move. Monday I spent as much time as I could just stroking his back and talking to him, until after work Darcee drove to the vet and I held Shadow, barely breathing, in a towel in my lap one last time. There really wasn’t any decision to make—Shadow was finished here, and just needed to rest. So at about five o’clock on Monday afternoon, we said our final goodbye.
I am a dog person. I would never have chosen a cat.
But I’m glad Shadow chose me.