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Bertie Macy Curtis (domestic feline shorthaired, tabby) died peacefully at home from conditions of old age on Saturday March
11, 2006. He was 17. It's the end of an era: with my two cats dying within the space of three months, I am - for the first
time in 17 years!! -- catless.
Bertie was a medical miracle: he had so many problems for so long that it is amazing that he lived the longest of my three
cats. He was the survivor, he really just kept going in spite of so many complex health issues.
In more-or-less chronological order these problems included:
* Urinary tract problems (FUS - feline urinary syndrome)
* cancer of the right eye (he was Mr. One-Eye for 15 + years.
* Tooth decay, three extractions
* Psychological issues:
psychologically, he was "the cat who cried for help" (the title of a great book I read about feline neurosis,
by Dr. Nicolas Dodman) suffering from
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - various symptoms of his OCD included:
Psychogenic alopecia: he washed his back excessively, creating a bald spot. Also there were a lot of issues about territory
that led to "marking," as we might say euphemistically, or "thinking outside of the box." He saw both
a psychiatrist and psychopharmacologist (human professionals who specialize in felines) for these issues. These problems
might have been triggered by the feelings of abandonment that resulted when his "birth mother" Laura Macy gave him
to me in 1997, when she moved to London. Bertie never forgot her, as he indicated the time he "marked" her one
time when she came to visit me. This resulted in the musical tribute (sung to the tune of "A Boy Like That" from
West Side Story):
A cat like that! Who pees on mother!
Forget that cat! And get another!
Laura, of course, did get other cats, her little "East Enders," London Cockney orphan kitties. But I stuck
it out with Bertie, through thick and thin, through fragrant and pungent. Actually I think I did gradually loose much of
my sense of smell. I'm not the only one to put up with these kinds of issues - www.about.com has an article on "territorial
marking" by cats entitled "He peed WHERE?"
Other things that I found myself putting up with - there was the time he shredded my hand. Well, it was my fault, I snuck
up on him outside while he was pretending to be a tiger. And one time I came home to find he had chased my housecleaner
up onto the kitchen table.
-- Paying to have the house cleaned -- $30
-- Seeing the tough "house butch" cowering and defending herself with a broom from a plump tabby cat - priceless!
Back to other health issues:
* Hyperthyroid
* he had a small skin cancer removed in 2004 -- this was on a nipple, so we were worried about him having breast cancer
at the same time that I was battling it!
* He had a stroke or some kind of seizure in May 2005 - for a while his (sole) eye and the ear near it were paralyzed.
I had to put ointment in his eye (he couldn't close it), and he learned to sleep with his paw over it.
* Infected lip
* Near the end his heart and lungs were not doing too well. He stopped washing his back - he may have become less obsessive
(he did give up on much of the marking) or he may have just lost the ability to reach his back with his tongue - that was
always such an impressive stretch to see, he had been a real yogi).
He was such an emotionally complex guy (except towards the end when he really just slept most of the time, with little
breaks for eating). He really struggled with decision-making processes; I sometimes called him "Hamlet" - ("to
go out - or not to go out, that is the question"). Sometimes even as he slept the tip of his tail would be twitching,
showing that things were still going on in his little cat-brain.
Other nicknames - my friend Claire made Bertie some brilliant business cards that showed all these sides of his personality:
"Nude dancer" - pirate costume a specialty
"The spokescat" -- saying very clearly "feed me! Feed me! I have quite a few recordings of examples of
feline vocality. He could also be "the one-cat swarm."
"My special little guy" (he loved to be held and cuddled, he had a big rumbly purr right to the end)
Shortly before he died, my roommate Rose T brought a beautiful greyhound into our home. Laura M wrote to Bertie, offering
this advice:
"Don't let that silly dog eat your food. Stand your ground. Remember, this is your home, you are the one who has
spent years marking it, not her."
As Laura C observed, he has a big new job now, marking Kitty Heaven - and I'm sure he's doing that very obsessively and
efficiently -- like the time he peed on the fan, which was absolute genius for its effectiveness in covering the entire apartment
in his scent. Really, one's sense of smell is a small sacrifice for the joys of such thorough kitty love.
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