First Week Without

It is a week since we had to make the hard call on our oldest cat, a blue point Siamese named Val. We brought her companion with us to the vet's office, a slightly younger Siamese named Atlas, in hopes that it would be an easier adjustment for him than having her suddenly disappear. Alone among our cats, Atlas seems to understand illness and death well. It did seem to help.

He has settled down a state of being a little miserable but tolerating the situation. His version of tolerating it comes with twice daily rounds of pacing and inconsolable yowls, but this is not so different from his normal behavior. For a Siamese who has never been without another of their kind, we are doing well. Atlas quiets down and starts purring when one of us is sitting still for a lap. And sometimes he sleeps  with the big fluffy cat-cat who came in off the street a few years ago. The Siamese instinct for physical companionship is beginning to overcome their normal anxiety-ridden relationship.

Atlas' response since her passing has been proof of the similarities and dissimilarities in the bond between animals and humans. For all of his many annoying behaviors, he has wonderful instincts when a cat is in their final days. He will stay with a cat who is ill, even one he normally hates, and knows when the other cat has died. He will leave then, as if his job is done.

The difference this time, when it was Val who had passed, was that he didn't leave when the second shot had stopped her heart. He would have stayed by her side indefinitely had we not put him back in his carrier after a several minutes. It was both a moment of comic relief and of pain when we saw that we would have to call the end of his vigil. Atlas has no lack of the Siamese stubbornness.

As in a human loss, he was missing Val on the car ride home and for the first few days. The tone of his complaints were unlike anything we had heard before, uncharacteristic small sounds that spoke as clearly as words. He wouldn't play with toys and was unable to settle down to sleep. The only time he got any rest was when we were home and sitting down. If a cat can look miserable and depressed, he did. He has always had curious habits with his over sized ears - they fall up and down telling his mood. His ears were parked and immobile. Atlas was acting much like any human being would in the first days after the death of a friend or lover.

But a week later, it is clear that he may feel lonely but no longer remembers Val herself. He seems confused at times by his state - as if he doesn't know why his life is like this - but he doesn't look for her nor is he drawn to the places where her scent would still be the strongest. He has played with the cat toys a few times and is sleeping easily during the day.

Atlas is not as comfortable as he was with Val here, but his inability to remember her is allowing him to recover a normal routine. It may be that animals have the right idea - honor the one who was lost for a time, then place them in some closed folder and move on without the burden of grief.