And here is the post I meant to write yesterday. Things got sort of complicated with Hamish. I was driving two round trips to the vet (100 miles total) daily to see him. So that sort of overshadowed the important event.
Apache is gone.
A dozen or so years ago he came into the yard, climbed up my leg and into my arms. Obviously someone's throwaway cat who saw our hobo sign.
I always had mixed feelings about Apache. I loved him, of course. He was our sweetest and friendliest cat. Our other cats tend to disappear if they see a stranger; Apache would try to get adopted. He even loved on the vets. He would have been a favorite cat except for one major character flaw. A big one. He was a Piss Cat. Remember the cat on the TV series Red Dwarf who would walk around spraying (in his case, with a can of spray paint) going "this is mine, this is mine, don't want that, this is mine." Well, that was Apache. No wonder he was thrown away. Would just walk around casually spraying everything. Including, on several occasions, one of us. (Getting him neutered didn't help) So he mostly lived outside and just came in at night. Even then you'd have to be careful because he might come over to rub your ankles and next thing you know - wet pants legs (if you were lucky enough to be wearing pants). I took to picking up him and carrying him around in the yard to avoid that problem, which he loved.
I think after awhile he must have thought his name was "Goddammit, Apache."
Not long after Bob was diagnosed (July 2019), Apache got sick. Non regenerative anemia. But steroids helped and he hung in there. Pookha developed congestive heart failure and we lost her, but Apache soldiered on. We were gone for the three months in 2020, but my housesitter was able to get the pills in him and he was still around when we came back.
So you end up having the thoughts that you really don't want to have. Young and strong Wilhelm simply disappeared one night - and Apache sprayed on. Nazgul took sick - likely cancer - and I lost him. And kept mopping up after Apache.
Starting about 3 months ago he started dropping weight. Thyroid acting up, so now he got two pills a day. Increased the dose after a while - helped slow but not stop the downward spiral. He got thinner, bony, got tired easily.
And stopped spraying.
Last Wednesday night I came home from visiting Hamish. It was looking bad; he was going to have a transfusion after I left. I was in the den, watching Apache's skeletal frame heaving with each breath. He was still sweet, still head butted and purred. I had hoped that he could hang on until the Hamish crisis was over, but I realized that wasn't being fair to him. So Thursday, in between my Hamish trips, I took him in for the final farewell.
It's so odd to no longer have any outside cats. I know that it's more dangerous for them, but I loved coming home and have a cat (or two) trot out to greet me. Being followed around when I fed the chickens. Having company in the garden. And despite the dampness problem, and the endless cleaning up, I do miss him. Very much.
God speed, my furry friend.
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