I sure didn't make it easy for him. We moved more times than I can count, including a move from Wisconsin to Florida and back and his final move with us to South Carolina a year and a half ago. He actually spent 2-3 months in Florida without me in the apartment I shared with my then boyfriend. We were taking a break...I was going back to Wisconsin for one school semester and "I'll take the best care of him until you get back." I wanted to believe it, but soon learned that was not what was happening. I flew down to rescue my fur baby and move us back to Wisconsin.
One time, he got out of the house through a window screen that wasn't secured during a home remodel. The neighbor kids brought Molly to the door. "Is this your cat?" But where was Apollo? We lived close to a train track on a busy road. I thought I might have a heart attack on the front lawn, imagining the possible scenarios. Fortunately, he hadn't gone far and with a few treats, I lured him out from underneath the front porch. It was the longest 15 minutes of my life.
When I met my husband, Apollo spent a few months living with Nana and Bumpa. My husband had been allergic as a kid and the only pet he'd ever had was a parakeet. He wasn't a huge cat fan, so to wear him down slowly, we started him with Molly. She wasn't as demanding of attention...more the typical standoffish cat...and it seemed she would be an easier transition for my husband to make.
During the one or two months Apollo was with my parents, he turned my cat-hating father into an Apollo lover. Many times in the years that followed, my dad asked if he could have Apollo back. It didn't take long for him to win my husband over either. Two anti-cat men came to the other side, all because of one small, gray, ball of fur.
Apollo loved everyone. He always came out to see guests, let people pick him up, and settled on many of their laps. If I'd let him, he would have slept under the covers every night, flat against my stomach with his head on my arm. He would have spent every day rubbing his face on my chin.
When Apollo was diagnosed with chronic renal failure a few years ago, I was heartbroken. He went on a kidney diet and all was well for a while. After about a year, he started throwing up more frequently than was normal. If the food wasn't staying in his system, it wasn't doing its job. The vet started him on IV fluids and a Pepcid to settle his stomach. I was petrified at the thought of having to stick him with a needle, but he sat patiently. Even when I would accidentally poke the needle right back out and fluid would run all over the floor, he didn't budge or protest. Some days I cried about it, but he took it all in stride.
Again, this worked for a while, but he eventually started spitting out the Pepcid or retching intentionally to expel the pill from his stomach. He started to protest - loudly - when it was time to get fluid. He threw up even more frequently and refused to eat the kidney diet. I felt even worse about putting him through it. I stopped giving him Pepcid and on the vet's recommendation that eating SOMETHING was better than eating NOTHING, Apollo went back to eating his favorite canned food. He still got fluids, but we were getting less structured about it. Neither my husband or I wanted to force this on him. We imagined it was uncomfortable and painful and it broke our hearts every time.
Several months ago, when he started peeing outside the litter box, I knew we had trouble. He was getting to the box, but wasn't getting himself all the way in. We have a two box system...a smaller box with litter located inside a larger box to help control litter tracking. Soon, I was moping up the larger box about three times a week. In the last month or so, I was cleaning it every day.
By now, our 15 pound cat had dwindled down to about 8 pounds. The vomiting continued and it got to a point where if I wasn't cleaning up the litter box, I was cleaning vomit. The stress of the situation made me terribly short tempered and angry. I knew he couldn't help it, but I also knew what the end result would be and it was beating me down a little bit further every day. It was a cycle...I found a mess, I cleaned up a mess. I was angry and frustrated and I would get upset with myself because I was angry.
On Sunday, I came home from work to find my husband on the floor with Apollo. The cat couldn't walk...couldn't keep his back legs underneath himself. He would try and then he would stumble, fall, and cry out. We had reached the point where we could no longer look the other way. Of the various signs that the end might be near, Apollo was exhibiting nearly half of them. How much more could we expect him to endure simply because we couldn't bear to part with him? He was 19 years old...surely he couldn't be expected to bounce back.
Even still, taking Apollo to the vet for this last time was more difficult than anything I've ever done. Even though I'd been subconsciously preparing myself for the last year, I was still not ready. I felt the same pain as I had when my dad died unexpectedly several years ago. For almost 20 years, this cat had been attached to my hip. He'd loved me unconditionally. He cast no judgement when I did something stupid. He forgave me even when I didn't feel like I should forgive myself.
Finally, my dad got what he wanted all these years. I imagine Apollo is curled up in Dad's lap, having a nap. Take good care of him for me, Daddy.
