Midrina

In December 1999 Midrina came to live with me, a very large black short-haired cat, about 5 years old. I had seen her first in November at the Humane Society when I was still looking everywhere for Grimalkin, who had disappeared one month earlier. Midrina looked very stressed, and she had lacerations on her face. I looked briefly, then went to the cage where the only gray cat they had was kept. It wasn't Grimalkin, so I went home. A few days later I went to the County Animal Shelter, saw another gray cat, and even though it wasn't Grimalkin, I fell in love with the sad little animal with a white heart on her tummy--Griselda. She came home with me a few days later, and I was able to bring her back to health, with the help of the neighborhood vet. I still hoped that I'd find Grimalkin, so I'd stop at various cat rescue homes to look.

At Hooterville, in Woodinville, I saw Midrina again, looking healthier and less stressed. There were no gray cats, and I was beginning to absorb the horrible fact that Grimalkin was not coming home. When I asked if I could take the black cat out of the cage, the volunteer said yes. The black cat's name was Meena, she told me. Midrina cuddled onto my shoulder as if it were the best place in the world, and so she came home with me, and I instantly changed her name from what sounded like Meanie (she had been given up by a family with a toddler and a baby; the toddler had been bitten by the "bad" cat, so they couldn't keep her).

Midrina's name came from a combination of Midi and Reina, because she looked like a midnight queen (I mixed it up, though, because Midi actually means noon). People who speak Spanish thought her name was Madrina, which means godmother, something this wonderful black cat was definitely not.

She thrived, living with me. Each time she had a bout of what was diagnosed as feline eosinic granuloma, we treated her with predisone or cortisol, and she recuperated. Until this past year. Last winter I was away for three months (with one week break at home in between the 2nd and 3rd month), giving talks on a cruise ship in the Caribbean. When I came home for the break I saw Midrina had lost weight, so I called in the visiting vet, Dr. Hannah. Possible thyroid problem, she said, and took some blood. No significant results from the lab work, and I was off again.

When I returned the second time I realized Midrina had continued to lose weight. No longer the 16 pound chubby diva, she was about 12 pounds. We began a new regime of prednisone, feeding her on demand 3 to 5 times a day. Gradually she stopped losing weight, stablized, even gained a pound. And then she stopped eating entirely. The last few weeks she barely grazed on foods she had wolfed before.

On Friday, the 16th of October, Midrina died, with Dr. Jane’s help. Midrina had “asked” again several times on Wednesday afternoon. I phoned the vet to schedule her. Dr. Jane has been the primary doctor, but she would not be available until Friday afternoon, so Midrina and I had a day and a half more together.

Her last two days she lay under my bed, not avoiding me as much as making it very plain what her wishes were. She didn’t seem to be in pain, but she was wasting away, and closing down. Her eyes were clear. Every once in a while she would come into the living room, sit in one of her spots. She even went out on the balcony and smelled the air once, enjoying the sunshine.
Friday, at 4:45 Melissa was with me, on my request. I put Midrina in her carrier, but I was very uncertain that this was the right thing to do. At the vet’s we were soon shown into a small examining room. I left Midrina in her cage, where she felt secure, and petted her. Dr. Jane weighed her again, to help me make the final decision. In just the few days since we’d been in on Monday, Midrina had lost another half-pound. Dr. Jane talked with me, and answered my questions about what would happen if we did not euthanize her—as starvation and dehydration progressed, she would lose cognitive functions, as well as organ functions, and she would have some pain. We could wait a few more days.

I made the decision not to wait. Dr. Jane described the process she would follow. I breathed into Midrina’s neck after the first shot of morphine and anesthetic, and breathed into her head to relax her into her final sleep. When she was unconscious—[oh God, this is hard to write; I’m sobbing again]—Dr. Jane shaved Midrina’s foreleg, and gave her an IV overdose as I continued to gently stroke her. Within a few minutes her breathing stopped.

Melissa and I were both crying. Melissa was crying for Blackest (her cat who died in 1991), for her father, for any and all deaths she had endured. Dr. Jane stayed with us until we were able to leave, even told us we could stay longer if we wanted to.

I won’t ever know for certain what was wrong with Midrina, but the probable explanation, according to Dr. Jane, was that she had inflammatory intestine disease which had progressed to intestinal lymphoma. The eosin granuloma, which is an auto-immune disorder, probably had something to do with it. There was nothing we could have done except prolong her life for a few more months, with the discomfort of chemotherapy.

So now it is time to remember Midrina, my funny clown cat who thought she was a dog. She loved to sniff people when she first met them. She greeted me, and everyone else, at the door. She liked to chase her tail, and play with little stuffed toys. She would bring a stuffed toy in her mouth from room to room, meowing like a mother cat. She sometimes liked to sprawl in the sunshine, lying on her back just like a dog. I miss her terribly.

And Griselda (my gray cat) is beginning to understand the alpha cat is no longer around to plague her, but she won’t go to the chair Midrina liked to sleep in next to my bed. It’s as if Midrina’s ghost is still there, at least for Griselda. Her essence lingers all over the condo. Each place she claimed as hers. The toys I find underneath the furniture. I can still see her sniffing the wind while standing on the balcony, surveying her kingdom.