Senior cats have lots to offer… including mice

Opinion

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 08/01/2016 (3273 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

The first gift Princess gave us was a wee black mouse, not fur but threadbare felt, one that rattled when she grasped it in her tiny mouth.

She dropped it on the bed in front of us, stood up straight and waited. Fleckless yellow eyes fixated on our faces: she wanted a response.

OK, I’m only slightly embarrassed to admit this, but – we gushed. We fawned over the thumb-sized toy with the cloying fervour typically deployed after Christmas recitals by small children. We lifted its slightly slobbered body to our faces, admired it from every angle, and cooed a sticky approval.

“Oh, Princess!” we exclaimed, voices leaping an octave over normal range. “Thank you sooooooo much. Wow, what a great mouse.”

The cat, evidently pleased, fluffed her bouffant black tail behind her, wheeled around and sauntered off. It was late October, her second week in our house.

Some cats give gifts – that’s not the story. Nor is the fact that Princess’s mouse delivery soon escalated to daily, or that by the second month we began waking up to toy rodents tucked carefully underneath the covers, or sometimes left neatly on our pillows, tattered ears tickling our noses.

This, we figure, is how she intends to earn her keep. A steady stream of offerings, in trade for her full-service retirement home.

Princess is a senior. We knew that when we first saw her in October, coiled up in a Winnipeg Humane Society kennel and looking more than slightly perturbed. She was black, with long tufts of cinnamon-tinged fur. Tiny, but possessed of that stately bearing that comes naturally to her species. A lady.

She was also 15 years and two months old, deep into her golden years in feline terms, attested to by the strands of grey that pepper her paws and mane.

We weren’t looking for a cat when we found her. I was originally accompanying a friend who was on the hunt for his own companion, perusing the WHS kennels for a kitty he thought would fit into his home. Not a kitten, he told a WHS volunteer. He’d prefer an adult, at least six years old.

The volunteer’s eyes brightened; it’s not the most common preference. “Ohhhhhh,” she said, drawing out vowels in excitement. “Good for youuuuuu.”

We met many cats. We learned their histories. A pattern emerged among the older felines: a classic tabby, frightened but with a sweet 10-year-old face, found alone in an apartment where his owner passed away. Another quirky eight-year-old boy, jet black, arrived at the WHS after his caretaker died.

Princess’s story was much the same. Her owner, due to a serious health problem, could no longer care for her. With that twist of fate, a 15-year-old cat was thrown into an uncertain state. The shelter is a difficult place for a senior; families, fearing vet bills or a short life expectancy, like cavorting kittens.

On average, WHS adoptions manager Judy Dean estimates, older cats wait for adoptions about two to three months longer.

“For me, it’s the most frustrating thing,” she said. “After age five, we find them hard to adopt. But a 10-year-old cat is really a middle-aged cat. Indoor cats can live 20 years. We have Angie, who just celebrated her 10th birthday here with us. People are like, ’10 years, that’s so old.’ But that’s middle-aged.

“If we can catch people and have that conversation, we can show them it’s a myth.”

Over the weeks that my partner and I debated whether we would take Princess, the WHS held two sales targeted at clearing out their seniors. One weekend, adopting her would have cost just $10. Another weekend, it was flat-out free. Both times, when we returned in the week, Princess was still waiting.

That’s when we pulled the trigger. The first night Princess lived with us, she pawed at the bed covers and waited for them to be lifted; she slept that night underneath the blankets, curled up against my chest. The comfort of companionship, to her, was so familiar; her former owner must have cherished her.

“I also say the great thing about adopting an older cat is you know exactly what you’re getting,” Dean said.

“If there’s something specific you’re looking for, like, ‘I want a cat that for sure is or isn’t going to sit in my lap,’ adopting an older cat, you know what you’re getting.”

So consider this column, then, a call to consider the senior pets. If you have one already, make arrangements for its future; figure out who can care for it, should you die. (The WHS has an animal stewardship program whereby they will ensure your cat is cared for, in exchange for a $25,000 willed donation.)

Above all, if you’re considering a new pet, consider a senior. Look for the ones that came to the shelter, sat there and lingered, their age acting as a deterrent to other would-be adopters. Look for the ones who, like Princess, are waiting, slightly perturbed, wondering how their lives took such a sudden turn.

As for Princess? She’s been a delight. We don’t know how much time we’ll have with her. Then again, we never know how much time we’ll have with anyone.

In the meantime, she lights up our house.

She gives us gifts — not the mice, I mean, but the sense that of all the ills we can’t control, of all the horror and injustices that happen in the world, this is one thing we can easily make right. We can keep her safe, in this long afternoon of her life.

It isn’t much, in the grand scheme of things. But as she naps next to me now, paws curled around her latest mouse delivery, it’s something.

melissa.martin@freepress.mb.ca