In my last blog post, I talked about losing my almost seven-year-old cat Lubya quite suddenly. I still miss him a lot but most of my energy and concern right now is focused on his sister Mimi.
Even though many cat sites report that it’s normal for behavioral changes to occur in animals that lose companions—both two-legged and four-legged ones—it’s still hard to see them struggle.
The most surprising instance of Mimi acting out of character came one evening not too long ago. Mimi was standing on the dining room chair and I went over to pet her. I guess my hand moved too quickly and she nipped me—the first time in the six-and-a-half years we’ve been together. To discourage this behavior, I flicked my index finger on her nose which, I read, is what mother cats do when their kitties misbehave.
Mimi looked at me startled, turned and place her head against the wall. She stood like that for what seemed like forever, reminding me of a scolded child told to stand in the corner as punishment. Her demeanor was so repentant that my heart nearly broke watching her. I gathered her to me, explaining how biting was not allowed. As I petted her, she nuzzled me. That’s one of the things I love about cats: short memories and forgiving hearts!
But Mimi remains much more skittish than before Lubya died. She doesn’t always come to greet me when I come home from work. If someone has been in the apartment—the building supervisor, the cleaning person, cable repairman—I can count on finding her in her “safe place,” under the bed against the far wall.
She’s talking way more than she ever did and eating a bit less than usual. I have to coax her to eat supper by sprinkling her food with her favorite treat Liv-a-Littles by Halo, which she adores. I have also broken down and gotten what I call cat “junk food,” a particular brand of canned cat food that is not quite as nutritious as what I generally feed her, but one that she literally slurps down. Mind you, this is only an interim measure!
The only upside to her distress is that we are cuddling together much more than before and falling asleep together most nights. She’s either stretched out against my right side or snuggled in the crook of my arm.
And that’s why I feel so hopeful that this is only a temporary condition. Seeing her stretched out with her belly exposed or walking around with her tail sticking up, with that cute curve at the very top, tells me she feels safe and relaxed. And like with us humans, time should prove to be a trusted healer.
—Anne Simpkinson
Photo: Mimi
